A Change In Direction
by childofthemuses
Summary: Takes place after Jean Valjean knocks out Javert and is once again on the run, trying to make his way to Cosette. Javert, however, has other plans and refuses to lose track of the infamous thief again.
1. Chapter 1

"Listen to me, Javert! There is something I must do!" Valjean was shouting, seeming unable to control the volume of his voice. In the bed next to where he sat, a pretty young woman lay all dressed in white, staring up at the ceiling without seeing. It was the woman from the square, I noted, the one whom had attacked that unsuspecting gentleman. "I only need three days." Valjean held his hand towards me in appeared to be a calming gesture. "Then I'll return, I pledge my word to you Javert. Then I'll return-"

This was beginning to turn pathetic, this pledge for freedom. I found myself 'hmph-ing', feeling insulted that Valjean thought he could fool me so easily. "You must think me mad! Across the years, I've hunted you. I know you're type, I know what you're capable of. I hear you even stole silver from a Bishop. You're nothing but a lowly thief, and it is my duty to enforce the repercussions of your actions."

"I'm not the same, desperate man you knew when I was in the chain gang. I am a man of God now."

I sneered. "Men like you can never change."

Valjean stood, the strength and fluidity in his movements uncommon in other men his age. He angled his body as though to hide the sight of Fantine from my eyes, fingers twitching slightly, clearly ready to fight for their freedom over taking to a pickaxe again. I hoped I looked half as formidable as I thought, planted in the doorway. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see nurses staring and whispering behind their hands, wondering what a policechief was wanting from a prostitute and the mayor. "Believe of me what you will Javert, but I know my duty and you will not stop me carrying it out. You think you know me, what kind of man I am, but you can't. You have been told I am a thief, that I damaged someone else's property. But all I ever did was try to save my starving family. All I did was take some bread that, frankly, was stale, and I would have fixed the window if I hadn't have been caught."

I squared myself in the doorway, preparing for Valjean to rush me. "But you were caught, and you were exposed as what you truly are. You speak of duty as though you know what the word means, but all you have is a delusion that you are here to do good and that you have never done anything wrong. But the law is black and white: you shall not take what is not yours. It does not matter what you think of yourself: in the eyes of law you are a criminal, and you shall be treated as such. It's time to come with me 24601."

At the mention of that identity that was cast upon him, Valjean growls and grabs the chair he had vacated, slamming it upon the floor. It cracks and splinters and Valjean grabs one of the broken legs, pointing the deadly-looking point towards me. "You know nothing of me or of the world Javert. You know nothing of pain and starvation and desperation. I have said I will return to you once I complete this task. But I'm warning you," He hoists the chair leg threateningly, "If you will not willingly let me see this justice done, there is nothing I will not dare do to ensure it's success. I assure you, I will do whatever it takes. I will kill you."

I step into the room, step towards the criminal and his splintered chair leg, with a hand resting on my holster and confidence in my stride. Valjean's eyes flicker to the pistol, adjusts the grip on his own weapon.

I take one more step forwards. "You dare to speak to me of your crimes, to justify your wrongs? Every man is born in sin, every man must pave his own way. You chose this, every step you put in front of yourself led you to this point." Valjean starts to step forwards and the pistol is out of my holster in a flash. I grin, "Right to the end of the barrel of my gun."

Valjean arm lowers slightly, trying to hold my gaze but unable to look away from the gun for more than a second. "A child, Javert. You would let an innocent child suffer in all of this because you won't see reason?"

"This life you fashioned for yourself is over now, Jean Valjean. You were never anything more than Prisoner 24601: nothing more than a yellow slip of paper."

Valjean moves, bringing that chair leg, trying to whack me over the head. Surprised, I find myself moving my finger away from the trigger, ducking to the ground. I lose my grip on the gun and it skitters away across the floor, a fair price for my cowardice. As I stand to meet Valjean, he casts the chair leg aside and barrels into me, shoving me up against the wall. The man is unbelievably strong and manages to hold me still as he pushes my jacket aside to find the set of manacles I was sure I was going to use to capture him. I try a punch to his face but he somehow manages to grab my arm, snap the manacle in place before spinning me and securing both arms behind my back. He then turns me to face him again and, as I growl, removes the keys to the manacles from my waistband and pockets them. He chuckles, "It's a shame I'm not the thief you think I am Javert, since I seem to have a knack for pickpocketing."

I'm unable to do anything other than growl, face hot, as he shoves me to the ground and scoops up my pistol and points it at me. "Now, be a good little bloodhound and stay. By the time you get out of those manacles I will be long gone. Perhaps we'll see eachother again in another decade?"

He has the nerve to turn his back on me and walk to Fantine's side once more, taking her hand in his. "I promise you, your child will live safely and happily within my care. I will raise her to the light, and she will know of her courageous mother who was willing to give everything she had for her child."

"Such promises, they mean nothing to you," I scoffed. "You never truly meant to keep your promise to return to me if I had let you go, did you? You would have taken the child and disappeared into the world, fashioned a new life for yourselves and 'sought the light.'"

"That was an empty promise," Valjean said without even looking at me, pistol down by his side, "An empty promise for a man without mercy."

"There is nowhere you can hide from me," I spit, trying to stand. "Wherever you think you can hide away, I will find you. You think you can give this child a happy life? You couldn't even do that for yourself." Finally I get my feet under me and stand, using the wall as a support. "You promise you will look after this woman's child? Well, I swear to you, no matter where you go, who you pretend to be, I will find you. I will be there: I will always be there."

Valjean has no retort, acts as though he doesn't even hear me. "You're going to fail this child," I add, stalling in the thought that some law-abiding vigilante will swoop in and help me bring own the man I have dedicated ten years of my life to tracking down. "You will fail them as you failed your sister and your niece. This child would be safer dead than with you."

Valjean has a sharp intake of breath and as I ready myself for another speech about how all he ever did was try his best, the man whirls around and hurls his fist at me. He connects with my cheek with enough power my head snaps back and smacks into the wall and I fall to the ground, my vision growing dim and fuzzy.

The room grows dark: a great yawning shadow fills my vision and I close my eyes, the last sounds I hear whispered from Valjean's lips to Fantine's dead ears.

"I will be there."


	2. Chapter 2

I felt weighted down by darkness, head pounding as a quiet voice drifted to me, whispering, "Inspector? Inspector?"

Coming to my senses was difficult: the more lucid i became the more intense the pounding. As my eyes fluttered open the pain localised to my cheek. I tried to reach up and cup the undoubtably swollen flesh but found my hands still handcuffed behind me. My shoulders were killing me.

"Inspector?" A woman comes into my line of vision, waving a hand before my eyes, "Inspector, are you alright? What happened?"

I cleared my throat, tried to look more alert. "Where's Val- where's the Mayor?"

She blinked, confused, "He left ten minutes or so ago, calling for a carriage to take him back to his home." She swallowed heavily, "He isn't the one who did this to you, is he?"

I notice now that there are several people in the room: two more nurses and one of the local police officers whom escorted Fantine here. I glance over - her body still lies in that bed, except now someone has thrown a sheet over her. It's thin material, I can still make out the dark colour of her eyes through it.

I try to stand and the two nurses rush over and support me until I am on two feet once more. I address the room, "The man whom you knew as your Mayor is a freud. He is a fugitive who goes by the name of Jean Valjean. He was given twenty years hard labour because he was a thief, and after serving his time he skipped his parole and has been on the run these past ten years. He is not honourable, as you see him, nor is he a man of God. He is a liar, and as soon as his ploy began to unravel he attacked a man of the law and ran. No doubt he has already collected a horse and is long gone - disappearing is what he does best."

"Sir, with all due respect, that can't be true." The police officer spoke. He was young, an innocent naivety in his eyes. He could not have been in the job long. "The Mayor is a truly generous man: he has cared for us all during his years in office and will jump to the aid of anyone who may need it. He has always been selfless and...and kind, Sir."

I tried to stand tall, asserting dominance in this situation, "Although that is what you think is true, I can assure you I have been dealing with this man since long before you were born. He has fooled you all, but I am here to hold him accountable. He will not get away with this. Now," I say with a flick of my chin, "I need these shackles removed before I can bring this man to justice. I will also require a horse, if your town can spare one, and some provisions."

The officer nodded and hurried out of the doorway and down the hall, leaving me alone with three woman who stared at me in disbelief and the still body on the bed in the corner.

"Now, sir, I suggest you hold very still."

I bit my tongue to stop myself snapping at the blacksmith to get on with it. With my arms stretched out behind me I could not see what the mountain of a man planned to do to release me from the shackles: all I knew was that the process to do so required a very large hammer. I tried shifting a little before he began, making sure I was as comfortable as I could get.

I found myself torn between wanting my arms free as soon as possible and the hope that this was a long, tricky process so that escaped convicts didn't have an easy time of it. The strain in my shoulders had me swaying towards free as soon as possible.

"Now, I hope you're ready. Don't want you jumping from fright and getting a crushed hand."

I nodded, breathing through my nose in the dim, hot cabin the blacksmith inhabited. A fire roared somewhere behind and to the right of me, regularly stoked by the man whom had told me to call him Nicolas but since I didn't plan on speaking to him a didn't pay him much heed.

Something came down upon the chain then - I would assume the hammer but I didn't dare sneak a peek to sate my curiosity. For many long minutes, the blacksmith hammered and pushed the chain around. I felt heat near my fingers at one point before hammering and grunting ensued. Finally, when my shoulders were screaming from being so tense and sweat beaded my forehead, a mighty blow came down upon the shackles and my wrists separated and swung round to where they belonged.

I rolled my shoulders, muscles stiff and sore. I looked down to find the cuffs of the shackles still encircled my wrists. I turned to the blacksmith - Nicolas - with a raised eyebrow.

He merely shrugged, "Best I can do, I'm afraid. Well, best I can do without seriously burning you or worse." He began tidying up, putting various tools away, returning a dimly glowing rod to the fire. "Only way you're going to get rid of those is by using the key made for them."

With a mumble of thanks and coins laid in his gruff hand I escaped the heat to be greeted by the beginning of the evening. Valjean had up to a two hour lead on me, but I highly doubted he planned on constructing a new life without money nor provisions, let alone caring for a child amidst all of that.

The nurses had been incredibly helpful - while one left to find if the blacksmith would be of any help to me,the others told me what they knew of Fantine: of how she had lost her job because her boss had found out about her paying for the care of her child in more ways than one.

As it happened to turn out, one of their sister nurses had been present the day of Fantine's firing. She had snatched a telegram from Fantine's hand, read aloud the woman's troubles for all to hear.

She told me she blames herself for the death of Fantine and the probable death of her child, that she had to turn to her faith to find a way to forgive herself. It was how I came to be here, she said, helping those less fortunate than I. She had even kept the telegram to remind herself of her misdeeds.

But most importantly, she showed me the telegram in question: upon which it said very clearly where it had been sent from.

Valjean was headed to Montfermeil, not much farther than five days ride from here. Of course, that was with him having to stop and rest. As an officer of the law, I could obtain a new horse easily from other officers when mine would tire, and I didn't expect to feel tired until I finally had that criminal in shackles.

I was so close, so close to righting the mistake I had made when I gave Valjean that yellow slip of paper. I felt personally responsible for this mess, but I would be damned if I didn't clean it up.

I was given a horse - "fastest legs in the stable," I was assured - and was on my way as the day finally faded into night.


	3. Chapter 3

I rode through the night and on until morning, until the flanks of my mare were dark with sweat and her nostrils flared for breath. Feeling sorry for the beast, I let her walk down the road until I came to a small town. I wasn't there long enough to learn its name before obtaining new horse - this one a male with a chestnut hide - and setting off again.

I had narrowed down Valjean's choices to three: he could take the main road, as I was, straight to Montfermeil. He would rest comfortably, unaware of the fact that I knew exactly where he was headed, and because he would award himself this luxury I would undoubtably gain ground and catch up to him. I would successfully capture him and this hunt would be over.

He could play it smart and assume I would find my way to him and take the less direct, less travelled country roads. I would reach Montfermeil first, but was at a disadvantage in this scenario. Valjean most likely knew the name of the inn where Cosette resided, but how many inns run by a couple who were paid to look after a young girl could this town have? And besides, I am a detective - I'm sure I could figure it out. It would just be a matter of working it out before Valjean arrived, which I'm sure I could do. Then I would successfully capture him and this hunt would be over.

However, he could do what he is most skilled at and run. Run from me and the promise to Fantine, disappear for another decade. And that thought almost pulled me up short: if he ran and was not headed to where I believed he was, I would be right back where I started eight years ago. No clue where he was, not even who he was anymore. This hunt would continue on if he chose his selfish route once more.

The day was hot, stiflingly hot, especially within my jacket. Sweat rolled down my temples as I pushed the horse onwards, hands gripping the reins tight enough to turn my knuckles white. I had never enjoyed travelling by galloping horse: the ground sped past below me sickeningly fast and I felt as though it wanted to draw me towards it and crack my head off of the road. I much preferred the leisurely trot of a horse - maybe even push it to a canter - but nothing could beat the enjoyment of speeding along in the back of a heavily padded carriage, just watching the world speed past without a care in the world.  
Of course, I was a long stretch away from being without a care.

It was beginning to grow dim, the sun dipping down below the horizon, and I found my head beginning to lull against my chest. We had slowed to little more than a trot, the horse's head bent down to the ground to stretch out its neck. I figured that riding a day without rest should have put me a fair bit closer to Valjean, and as I rode into a small village I sought out an inn in which to spend the night and rest the horse.

I found myself standing before the stables at the back of the Black Crow: a small inn that appeared to be in a state of disrepair but did have a spare bed for the night. I handed off the horse to the stable boy, pressed a coin into his palm, and entered the surprisingly rowdy Black Crow.

There was a bar ahead of me with a pretty woman serving drinks, hoping for a tip with a wiggle of her eyebrow and her chest. She wasn't left disappointed.

Around me was a cluster of tables, each being crowded with a group of raucous men and their ales. I felt awkward for a second in this dim, loud place, but squared my shoulders and stepped to the bar.

"I'd like a room for the night," I told the bargirl.  
She flashed me a grin I supposed was meant to seem cheeky, "That all you're after mister?"

I cleared my throat and didn't say anything, so with a roll of her eyes she held out her hand for payment before handing me a large rusted key. "You may eat dinner down here - at a cost, of course," She added a smile, eyeing my coin pouch.

"Of course," I nodded, and with a curling lip she turned her back on me to focus on the more admiring customers.

The room, as expected, was nothing special. A rickety bed with a thin, unyielding mattress, covered with yellowing sheets that barely passed as clean and a single, flattened pillow. A simple table who's only purpose seemed to be holding up the candle set upon it: there were no obvious means of lighting it. There was a small, dusty window that let the dying light of day drift in. I pushed it open, the hinges squealing, to find the charming smell of manure from the stables begin to drift in. At least, I hoped it was emanating from the stables. Nose wrinkling, I shut the window speedily.

I sat down on the bed - although it may as well have been the floor it was so solid - and ran a hand through my hair. I still had not managed to work out how I was going to overpower Valjean. There was no way I could match that strength, and I doubt I would have the time to collect a group of officers to aid me in his capture before he would have disappeared again. Time was of the essence: I was grateful for the knowledge that I knew where he was headed, what he aimed to achieve. But that goal was time sensitive: once he had collected the girl he would be free to go wherever he wished and slip into the shadows once more. I wasn't going to get another chance after this.

But any plan I made was weighted heavily upon me being incredibly lucky and catching Valjean off guard. I needed the element of surprise in order to even have a chance, and I needed to find the man first. I just wanted to know where I would run into him so I could prepare: would I see him ahead of me on the road and have to gallop alongside him and try and throw him off? Would I catch him in this Inn where Cosette resided? Would I find the place he had decided to rest for the night and I could overpower him before he even woke up? The last one sounded pretty appealing.

But, as it turns out, it was Valjean who found me.

I ended up dosing on the bed for some time - long enough that when I woke I was in complete darkness, save for the sliver of light stretching around the doorframe. I was glad I had been too tired to undress: I doubt I would have been able to dress in this darkness. Double checking I had all my belongings, I left the room and headed downstairs for dinner.

It was even louder now, the small room containing an inordinate amount of hustle and bustle. There were several girls working the bar now, slinging pitchers of ale with such force amber liquid sloshed over the edge and onto the floor. Their customers didn't seem to mind one bit, too transfixed with the girls themselves.

Men were weak, I noted. They'd let any pretty face make a fool out of them.

Shoving through the crowd of their admirers, I finally was able to pay for dinner. The girl who served me did not elaborate on what I would be having, but I was at the stage of not caring so long as it was hot and relatively filling.

I settled myself at an empty table on the outskirts of the ruckus with my back to the room. I found myself fiddling with the shackles still encasing my wrists; they had rubbed my skin red in places and caused my every movement to jingle. It was seriously starting to bug me.

I was twirling one shackle around and around my wrist, looking for a point of weakness, when I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

"If i was a paranoid person, Inspector, I would swear that you were following me."

I rolled my eyes: only Valjean could be that cocky and dramatic in a single sentence.

With a gesture from my right hand, I asked, "Care for a seat, 24601?"


	4. Chapter 4

"I will if you agree to talk to me sensibly."  
I fought the urge to roll my eyes again, leant forward against the table and replied, "Fine."  
He sat down across the small table from me, looking far too jolly. The way he was looking at me, I couldn't help but assume this mood arose from how easily he had overpowered me before. I hid my wrists beneath the table before he saw the shackles still encasing them.  
"Are you going to let me speak this time?" Valjean asked.  
"Are you going to let me remain conscious?" I spat.  
He smiled impishly. "Quite the shiner I gave you."  
I wouldn't know. It wasn't as if I had had time to ponder my reflection in recent days. "So, what? You're done running?" Somehow, I knew I wouldn't believe a word he said in agreement.  
He leaned back into his chair, a risky move considering the unstable state it was in, and stretched out his legs. "I've never enjoyed running much. You develop a sense of paranoia, and anxiety. Can't be good for you."  
"So now you are happy to go back to the chain gang? You skipped your parole and ran from the law- my guess is that you will die long before your sentence is served." He looked so relaxed across from me, shouting for ale, asking if I would like some. Then he laughed as though the idea of me having a drink was funny.  
"I swear to you, I am a changed man," He assured me as one of the bargirls dropped his drink down in front of him. He then paid her in full - I checked - and gave her a tip. He took a long, hard drink. "I know that running from my parole was wrong, but I needed a chance to live. To do good - I couldn't do that with everyone slamming their doors in my face.  
So I renounced my old life - which was far easier than I could have hoped - and eventually became the mayor of a small town of people that came to depend on me and trust my judgement. I made a lot of changes, and a lot of them helped people." Something flashed sharply in the depths of his eyes there, and I guessed it was something about Fantine. After all, no one would go to as much trouble as he was without some guilt hanging over his head. "But then you arrived, and although I had forgotten Jean Valjean, the rest of the world had not. You are proof of that."  
"And no matter how far you run, we will never forget. You have done wrong-" I started to remind him.  
"I know!" He interjected. "You don't need to hammer it in, Javert, I know what I have done is wrong to the law. Although it was the right thing to do-"  
"Stop that," I growled, "stop trying to tell yourself you were in the right the whole time. I wouldn't have worked this hard to find you if you were innocent."  
He blew air out of his nose angrily, shaking his head, taking another drink. "Moving past that," He said with a sharp look to silence my next interruption, "I have done wrong. And I am at peace with the fact that I must come with you and serve my time."  
I blinked: so, that was it? He was giving up, coming with me just like that? I didn't want to sound disappointed but...it was a bit anticlimactic.  
"But-"  
I should have known there would be a but.  
"This child needs my help."  
I groaned, "What life can you give a child with you on the run? You're at peace with the fact that I must arrest you, yet you want to squeeze in raising a child before doing so? This child, whoever she is, is obviously far better off in the care of these innkeepers than in yours."  
"Fantine told me of these people," Valjean continues on calmly, rubbing at the stubble peppering his chin, "Of how they would tell her Cosette was gravely ill so that she would send them more money. She knew it was a trick, but she couldn't risk travelling all the way to Montfermeil to catch them in their lie incase it was true and she had wasted the time travelling over making her more money to pay for her daughter's care. Now that she's dead, it wouldn't be surprising that once the money stops arriving these people will turn Cosette out onto the streets. I will not let that happen. But-" He silenced me with a raise of his hand, "I fully intend to come with you - you are right, I cannot give this girl the life she deserves. So I have an offer to make with you: you give me one week to give this girl a chance at a life. You may accompany me along the way, and once I am satisfied she will be safe, I will happily and willingly come with you. No more fighting."  
It was then that my food arrived: a shallow bowl filled with what looked like puddle water but what I severely hoped was stew. Steam drifted lazily off of it, so at least it was warm, and it didn't smell horrendous. As I turned to thank the girl, I caught Valjean placing a tip in her hand and asking for another drink. Once she had left, he turned back to me with his offer in his eyes.  
"One week?"  
"Yes."  
"Seven days?"  
"Possibly less, if I complete my task early enough."  
"So you know where you want to take her."  
He smiled crookedly, "I have a plan that should kill two birds with one stone."  
I raised an eyebrow, along with my spoon, "Care to elaborate on that cryptic message?"  
"Not entirely."  
"Wonderful."  
He left me in peace to wolf down the stew, sipping at his latest drink. Once I pushed the bowl away from me he spoke again. "So, do we have a deal?"  
"You won't run when the time comes that I must arrest you?"  
"You wouldn't even need to shackle me I'll be so well behaved. Of course, I don't expect for a moment that you won't."  
I couldn't if I wanted to, I thought angrily, since you made me ruin the one pair I had with me. I slid my hands beneath the table again, hoping he hadn't noticed. "Do I get my gun returned to me?"  
He screwed his face up at the prospect, "I think it would be best if I held onto it."  
I felt my neck grow hot, "And how do I know that you won't use it against me when the time comes when I arrest you?"  
"How do I know that you won't arrest me right now on the spot as soon as I give it back to you?"  
He stopped me in my tracks with that one.  
"Looks like this offer is only going to work if we trust one another."  
"Looks like it," He says carefully.  
I breath out my mouth slowly, considering. "How about a compromise? You can carry the gun, and I can carry the ammunition. I mean, each is just as useless without the other, isn't it?"  
He smiled at that, "So does that mean you are going to let me do this?"  
"I don't seem to have much of a choice, do I?"  
He stuck his hand out across the table for me to shake. As I grasp it, his grip tightens slightly as if to remind me of his strength. A useless move: I have no intention to have another fight with him. I didn't want a matching bruise on the other side of my face.  
He stands, kicking his chair out behind him and releasing my hand. "So we're in agreement. Meet me in the stables at dawn tomorrow to head out."  
I nodded and he turned to leave. "Oh, and by the way," He said over his shoulder, still walking, "I love those bracelets of yours."  
My face flushed red and fists clenched as he walked away chuckling, certain that I heard the mocking jingle of keys in his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

He was going to double-cross me. I knew I could not trust a word that slipped from his lips: surely he would let me tag along until we were out of the public eye and he would finally get rid of me. Once he had been gone around ten minutes, I pushed off from the table and walked to the door with one thought in my mind: I refuse to get double-crossed.  
And that meant I had to double-cross him first.

The streets were cold and empty, my footsteps echoing the clip of my heel on stone. I kept my head down, collar turned up against a harsh night wind. I had seen my destination briefly on my way into town: lucky I had an eye for details or I would never have noticed the unremarkable building.  
Inside, there was a small cell and a police officer asleep on his desk amidst a collection of papers. The ones beneath his face were collecting a small puddle of drool.  
I cleared my throat but the man barely even stirred. Unimpressed, I stepped forwards and nudged him with my foot until his face turned towards me drowsily. One eye opened to peer at me. "And what do you want?" The man said. He was a fair few years older than I, with a scraggly grey beard that I wished to shave off, and watery blue eyes.  
"You may address me as Inspector Javert, officer."  
At the mention of inspector, the other eye flew open and the man suddenly stood upright, brushing away a paper that had managed to stick to his face. "Sir, I...I had no idea of your plans to visit. If I had known I...I would have-"  
"You would have what?" I said, making sure I had a stern scowl in place as he moved away from me to the other side of the desk, "Pretended that you were actually capable of doing the job for which you are currently employed? Surely that means that you would plan to lie to me, does it not Officer?"  
The man's Adam's apple bobbed nervously and he said nothing else.  
I sat down in the seat he had just vacated and put my elbows down upon the desk, my chin resting on clamped hands. He stared at my shackled wrists for one second then his eyes were back on mine. "Who is in charge here?"  
"Officer Allard, sir." The man was beginning to shake from being so tense in his stance.  
"And where is he now?"  
"At home, sir. He doesn't work nights-"  
"May you please fetch him for me?"  
"He- he does not appreciate to be woken, sir. Says where else can he rest but his home. No one is meant to disturb him."  
"Well," I say as I scratch my chin , "I don't think I am just anyone, am I?"  
He shook his head fiercely, "No sir. Not at all, sir."  
"Well then," I say and wave my hand, "Off you go."  
"Sir," The man said, still looking severally unsure of himself. He glanced at the shackles again, "Perhaps if you came with me, he would be more...compliant. Once he saw whom he was dealing with."  
I rolled my eyes: I was not going to win this, I may as well go with him. I made to stand, but as soon as I took my eyes off of the officer he moved, surprisingly quickly, and removed his pistol from his side. I froze halfway to standing, shocked.  
"YOu can straighten up," He told me.  
I did so and scowled, "What is the meaning of this? Go and collect your superior at once."  
"Don't worry about that, sir. I'll be sure to go and fetch him just as soon as you step into that cell over there."  
I glanced at the pitiful excuse for a cell, cocked him in my gaze again, "And what is this about."  
"We just heard word about a fugitive that would possibly be making his was into our sweet little town. And by the look of those shackles on your wrist, I would say that man is you."  
My jaw felt like dropping, but instead I let my rage wash through me. "You would point a gun at your superior over rumours and speculations? Lower your gun at once, you buffoon."  
"No can do, sir." He looked increasingly nervous, and I felt it was in my favour that he still felt the need to call me sir even when he was accusing me of being Valjean. It showed his uncertainty. "I'd rather take the risk and not look the fool for letting a fugitive just waltz in here and start ordering me around."  
"You're already the fool," I growled.  
He gestured with his gun, and I felt I had no other option but to back up slowly into the cell. He slammed the door shut after me, making a point of locking it before he lowered the pistol.  
"You are going to regret this," I warned him. "I am here about the fugitive in question. i have vital information about his whereabouts and need Officer Allard's help in capturing him."  
"That's a nice story, sir, but I think I'm going to take my chances." At that he left speedily, leaving me in the cell with my humiliation.

I had resigned myself to sit on the floor, but as soon as I heard voices approaching I stood up straight, ready to meet the gaze of whomever was about to burst through the door.  
I heard an angry voice say, "You better be right about this Bellamy," before the door was thrust aside and a podgy, clean-shaven man entered. His hair was in a disarray and had misbuttoned his jacket. I decided not to mention it.  
"Is what I have been told true? Do I currently have one of the most sought-after men in the whole of France currently standing within my cell?"  
I smiled slyly, "Sadly not, Officer Allard."  
I saw him shoot a glare at Bellamy before addressing me again, "Well then,, who are you?"  
"I am Javert, Inspector First Class, and I demand to be released immediately."  
Allard's eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of my name as though they could not stop themselves, and I noticed a slight sheen of sweat appear on his forehead. "Do you have any means of proving this?"  
"Well, I don't have an inmate number tattooed across my chest."  
Allard nodded, "Valjean is 24601, is he not? Very well, show me."  
I unbuttoned my jacket and shirt beneath, just enough to show that no tattoo adjourned my chest. Although this whole fiasco was incredibly irritating, it was almost worth it to see Allard's look of rage and Bellamy looking positively sick. The cell door was unlocked quickly, and I emerged from the cell to a chorus of apologies and general ass-kissing. Allard send Bellamy home with the promise to make his life a living hell tomorrow.  
"Sir, forgive my colleague-"  
I held my hand up, "Surely you have wasted enough of my time, have you not?"  
"Yes, yes of course sir." Allard swept his hand towards the chair, "Please, will you have a seat?"  
"Not now, I need to speak to you of Valjean."  
"Valjean?" His eyes widened, "You know where he is? Is he here? Where?"  
"Yes, I know where he is," I silenced his interruptions. "I know where he is, but you are not arrest him until my say so. I don't want to try and capture him in town for he is a slippery creature and it is far too easy to loose someone when surrounded by buildings. I will not have him on the run any longer, but I will not commit a botched capture that goes belly-up and we lose him. Am I understood."  
Allard's head nodded furiously. "Yes sir. But, then what would you have us do?"  
"What I need from you, and several other officers if you have them to spare, is to tail him. He and I have reached an...understanding, and we plan to travel together for the next few days. I want a group of your men following us until I give the signal, then I want them to appear and capture Valjean. They must stay close enough to be on the scene in seconds, but I cannot afford for them to be spotted any sooner. I cannot afford for Valjean to gain wind of this, do you understand me?"  
"And what will this signal be sir?" Allard seemed unsure at lending me his resources, but was smart enough, or scared enough, to not oppose me.  
I tapped my pocket, "I will blow my whistle. Once your men hear it, I want them to completely surround the area Valjean and I are in and make sure he is arrested. Valjean and I are currently staying at the Black Crow Inn, and intend to head off at dawn for Montfermeil. Your men are not to lose us for even a second, is that clear?"  
Allard nodded. "I will assemble the team tonight, and they will be ready to follow you at first light. Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
"Just don't screw this up," I warned him as I headed back out into the night.  
Allard watched me make my way down the street until I turned off. The chilly night had me thinking of the route Valjean and I would take tomorrow: we would need to be fast to make it to a bed by nightfall. I for one did not wish to get caught sleeping out in the open in this cold - although if I was lucky, by this time tomorrow I could finally have Valjean in chains.  
I would have been far easier to send the officers I was borrowing to go ahead of us and set up a trap in this inn of Cosette's: the issue being, however, I had no idea where she lived. If the time did not come tomorrow, just needed them to be smart and not interrupt until I signalled. I hoped that whoever Allard sent, they were more attentive than that idiot Bellamy.  
A chill ran down my spine, and for a moment I had the suspicion that I was being followed or watched or...something. I turned, hand coming up to rest on a holster I forgot was empty. I peered into the darkness around that was pressing up against the weak glow of the street lamps. That chill remained, but I could not distinguish anyone standing in the gloom around me. Bringing my hand back down by my side I hurried to the inn, in desperate need of a good night's rest before these coming days. I would need to be constantly aware of Valjean's intent, and just hoped I could double-cross him before he me.


	6. Chapter 6

Valjean was late.  
Aside from him being a thief and a fugitive on the run, he was late.  
How hard was it to get up at dawn?  
I stamped my feet against the lingering night chill, blowing hot air into my hands. I had been here long enough for the world to go from darkness to the gentle glow of pink. Dawn was already breaking, and I was standing in the cold alone.  
Where was that stable boy?  
I knocked against the entrance to the stables, rapping with enough force that my knuckles went red. There was no reply: no stir except for that of the horses.  
I mouth screwed into a scowl, a face I was wearing often these days, and I resigned to entering the stables myself. Either the boy was asleep and it fell upon me to wake him, or he simply was not here and I would have to saddle my horse myself.  
I looked into each of the stables as I walked past them, seeing the large rumps of various dozing horses but no one else. I wonder which of these equines Valjean stole and rode here?  
Finally, I get to the last stall to find the stable boy asleep, sprawled across a pile of straw. It did not look comfortable.  
I nudged his leg with the toe of my boot: nothing. I huffed in frustration: why must everything be so difficult? Could nothing go right?  
I spied a bucket in the corner, filled to the brim with night-chilled water, and decided to mercilessly dump it over the boy. He came up spluttering, drenched, and that's when I saw the large bruise on the side of his forehead. Cool metal twisted in my gut.  
I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifted him to his feet. "What happened?" I hissed.  
He looked at me with a dazed look in his eyes, "Sir wanted his horse."  
"Of course I want my horse," I scowled.  
"No," He said, rubbing his eyes, "Not you. Another gentleman. He wanted his horse very early."  
"Who." I pressed but the boy carried on regardless.  
"He seemed a bit anxious and my boss has told me I'm not supposed to let suspicious people get their horses and go in case they have done wrong here. But...he offered me money. An awful lot of money." He bit his lip nervously, "So, I accepted. But when I turned to go and get his saddle he- he..." In answer he just pointed to the lump on his purple forehead.  
Valjean. That traitor! I knew it, I knew it all along. But despite my planning, he still screwed me over before I could do it to him. This was getting ridiculous.  
"That's it?" I pressed. "That's all you remember from your encounter with him."  
"Yessir." He said with erratic nodding. If the boy had a concussion I doubted that that would help.  
"What time was this at?"  
"The dead of night, sir. Maybe two o'clock? But I can't be sure exactly what time."  
"That's good enough," I said.  
"Did you want your horse, sir?"  
I looked at him there, soaked to the skin and a bit unsteady on his feet. "No, no boy. Here," I handed him several coins, "Go inside, get warmed up and some fresh clothes before you catch your death."  
He shook his head , trying to give me back the coins, "I can't, sir. I must man the stables for any who want their horses back."  
"Did you see that lot last night?" I said."You won't have anyone down for a horse for a long while. If they wake up at all it will be a miracle."  
For some reason he laughed at this observation before running off, shivering, out of the stables. I set to saddling up my horse myself and set off, finally, as the sun grazed the horizon.

I was nearing Montfermeil. I had ridden through the last few days, traded horses several times but not allowed myself any rest. No, taking that luxury had already cost me too much.  
I had gotten lost. Taken the wrong turn on a signless road and had to take directions in a small village I came across. They send me retracing my steps, assuring me there should be a signpost on the road. It was then that I found the broken stump imbedded in the ground. A signpost used to be here, but someone had taken it down. If anything, at least it was a sign that I was worrying Valjean. But it had cost me several hours in this game of cat and mouse.  
It was early morning when the sight of Montfermeil graced my eyes. But finding the inn wasn't as easy as I would have hoped: people here were tight-lipped, shifty, far too eager to get their hands on coin and kept all knowledge to themselves. I kept my money close until I came across a church. Information from here I could trust.  
I went inside and found the priest sitting in the front pew, his lips moving silently in prayer. I didn't wish to interrupt him, entering as quietly as I could, but he heard the clip of my shoes on the floor and turned. I made my way to him quick enough so that he only had the time to stand straight before I reached him.  
"Good morning, father."  
"Good morning," He smiled, "And what is it that brings you here officer? You look to be in a hurry."  
"I need some help sir." I told him of the place I needed to find.  
He nodded grimly, "Ah yes, I know who it is you seek. The poor child, life has not been good to her so far. You'll find her at The Waterloo, on the other side of town."  
"Thank you father," I shook his hand gratefully.  
As I hurried out, I heard his voice behind me. "But remember, inspector, there is always two sides to every story."  
I left, dropping coins into the donation box siting at the entrance to the church. As they clattered to the bottom, it was clear the box was empty except for what I had given.


	7. Chapter 7

The inn was a place that you knew, just by looking at it, that you didn't want to go enter. The whole place had an air of scandal around it, of thievery and wrong-doing. And I doubted the regular customers would be very welcoming to a man in uniform.

But, to my surprise and luck, the place was empty. Glasses of drink were sat upon dirty tables, half empty, and several chairs had clattered to the floor. Whomever had been here had left in a hurry.

That's when I heard it: the screaming and shattering of plates coming from what I assumed was the kitchen. It was incredibly daunting, choosing to open that door into whatever carnage I would find on the other side, but I went anyway.

A weasel of a man was hiding beneath a table in front of the door as a rather large woman shrieked bloody murder and hurled plates, cutlery - whatever she could get her hands on - at the man. I took this in quickly before having to duck behind the door as one of her throws went askew and a plate exploded against the wood where my head would have been.

"Get the hell out of my pub!" She screamed. Perhaps her throw wasn't as askew as first thought...

"Ma'am, I am Inspector Javert." I peered around the door.

"I don't care who you are, get out!" She threatened me by picking up a pot.

"I would also like to remind you," I said around the lump in my throat, "That assaulting a man of the law is illegal and if you did so I would have to arrest you."

That gave her pause, and the man beneath the table started to speak to me as he crawled out, "Thank the heavens sir, you have saved me. Perhaps you will stay for a drink as thank you? On the house, of course."

"The swill you serve has no right being referred to as a 'drink'." She huffed, face red and hands clenched into fists.

"Ignore her," He said, coming closer. I wished he wouldn't: he had a slimy quality about him and I wished to keep my distance. I saw him eyeing my pouch of coins and shifted so that they were less accessible to him.

"Are you two the Thénardiers?" I asked, sincerely hoping they were not.

My hopes were dashed when they both nodded.

I desperately needed them to comply with what I was going to say, so thought to diffuse the situation between them first. "What is going on here?"

"She scared off all of my customers!" Monsieur Thénardier whined. "And a rather wealthy man had just come in. I would have made a pretty penny off of him." I felt that that pretty penny would have been taken without the man's knowledge.

"He gave our child away!" She shrieked, going for another plate. "He let her get taken away."

I stood there, puzzled. Valjean was so intent on saving this child, Cosette, but surely she could not have been so badly mistreated when her guardians were left in this state in her absence.

"He gave me money, thinking he could buy the brat," He said to me. "And how was I supposed to know he took the wrong one?" He shouted at his wife, "You're the one who told him to go outside and get her. She's your daughter - you should have known Eponine was outside!"

I was even more puzzled now.

"Pardon?" I got out through the angry tension in the air. "Can someone please explain this all to me from the beginning?"

"Of course sir," Monsieur Thénardier gestured to the seating area I had just came through. "Perhaps a seat, a drink, as we speak?"

I complied to the seat, but firmly refused the drink. Madame Thénardier stood behind the bar as though she didn't trust herself to sit with us lest she strangle her husband. "A man came late last night," Monsieur Thénardier began. "A rich fellow, here on a mission from God or something. Said he was here to take that little whelp Cosette and raise her as his own. We, of course," He said with a sly look to his wife, "Refused. Then he opened his wallet and, well, we didn't exactly feel like refusing anymore. Besides, the child is more hassle than she's worth and her mother hasn't send us the money for her keep in a long time. We were needing rid of her anyway."

I now understood why Fantine wanted her daughter out of this place.

"Cosette was out getting water. We told him he could just go out and get her: it's not like she had any belongings to take with her. She never earned them, such a naughty child." He just shrugged at this. "So he left, leaving the money on the table. But," He looked to his wife, sure she would resume beating him when he mentioned this, "Cosette came back, never having seen this man, while our daughter Eponine, our own flesh and blood, has been missing since."

"He stole her!" Madame Thénardier shrieked, red faced again.

"Exactly," Monsieur Thénardier agreed.

I decided not to burden these distraught parents with the knowledge that their child was currently travelling with a convict who was on the run from, well, me. "Did he say where he planned to take Cosette?" I asked.

Madame Thénardier waved her hand like this was a useless point, "Something about every child deserves to see the sea." She poured herself something behind the bar and drank it down in one large gulp, wincing from the taste afterwards. "Can you bring her back? With Cosette gone, we need Eponine to pick up the slack around here. Lazy girl..." She trailed off.

I stood to leave, "You need not worry, I will do all that was in my power to bring your daughter back to you." How on earth do you take the wrong child? Valjean truly astounded me sometimes: I mean, they can talk right? Wouldn't he listen to the child saying she was not Cosette, but this Eponine?

"Leaving so soon sir?" Monsieur Thénardier said, still eyeing where I kept my coins.

"I need every minute I have to track down this man, so I must leave."

"Well, you can take the brat with you," Madame Thénardier announced. "Fat lot of good she does here anyway. Show this scoundrel that we at least hold up our end and give her to him. Then bring Eponine back."

I had no such intention of giving Valjean anything. "You want me to track this man down as fast as possible, while labouring me with a young girl?"

"It's either that, or we're casting her out on the streets." She warned, "Children are expensive things and we have no reason to keep her when her mother is unable to pay her way."

"Fantine is dead," I told her, aghast. How could these people be so heartless: this child had been with them for years yet she was nothing but a slave to them, seeing her as a way to get money rather than her being a person.

Neither of the Thénardiers reacted much to that. "Well," She said, "Then there's definitely no reason to keep her around."

I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, but I knew in my gut that I could not leave the child to be cast out into certain death on the streets. "Fine," I said through clenched teeth, "I will take her with me. Where is she, I really need to get going."

They both just shrugged, "Probably around here somewhere," Monsieur Thénardier said. "I'm going to bed, we've been up all night stressing and it really isn't good for mental stability. So please just hurry up finding her and leave." He headed to the bar and had the same drink as his wife, and they started bickering.

I was supposed to find this kid? I doubted she had a room - where would people like that even let her sleep? I wandered into the kitchen, mainly to get away from those two, and a cupboard swung itself open. A dirty face popped up and peered at me.

"Mademoiselle Cosette, I presume?" I asked her.

"Are you the one that was supposed to get me out of here?" She asked.

I fought not to bite my lip. I couldn't leave her here, but what was I supposed to do with her? I couldn't hand her over to Valjean as they all thought. The most sensible option was to leave in an orphanage, but a life like that...she would surely be better off here than in one of those places.

But I needed to go, so I decided she would come with me now until I worked it all out later. "What are you doing in there?" I asked her, changing the subject.

"They came in here screaming hours ago," She said, extracting herself from the cupboard, "It sounded like whatever had happened was my fault, so I hid in here before they saw me."

She was as thin as the children I have seen living on the street, almost black with dirt and wearing a scrap of dress no cleaner. Her tangled hair was pulled back off her neck with a ripped piece of cloth. Her hands were dirty and looking rough with steadily developing callouses. The priest was right - all fortune seemed to have abandoned this girl.

"So am I supposed to come with you now?" She asked, head cocked.

"Yes," I said slowly. "I am here to take you to your new home."

"And where is that?"

Where was that? Where was I supposed to find Valjean: the man had a knack for blending into the mediocrity of normal life so thoroughly he could hide in plain sight for another decade if I wasn't careful. I only had one clue to go on.

"Have you ever seen the sea Cosette?"


	8. Chapter 8

She sat in front of me on the horse, marvelling at the countryside around us. I wanted to break into a gallop, but she felt far too fragile: I was afraid if we went any faster, she would just fall apart. Her hands were tangled in the horse's mane for support, whipping her head back and forth at the rolling fields, the road, the sky, the hills. I wanted away from Montfermeil as quickly as possible: I had fed her some of my provisions and vowed to get her a proper meal and new clothes at the first town we came across. I could feel her shoulder blades and even some vertebrae though my jacket and considered buying her two meals.  
How could someone use a child this way?  
But those two...they seemed genuinely upset about this Eponine of theirs. Unless they were just upset about losing Cosette's replacement.  
But I would return her. As was right.  
We didn't come across another town until the sun was making it's was towards dusk: daylight wouldn't last much longer. By this point I had stifled many rumblings of my stomach, but had not once heard Cosette's. She may be used to going long periods without a meal, and if so I wanted to change that.  
We rode into the small town and I scouted for an inn that looked child-friendly. But this place had a feel similar to that of Montfermiel and no where looked exactly welcoming. Cosette had begun to doze against my chest and I made a snap decision to stop at the next inn I came across, stabling the horse and carrying Cosette inside.  
I was greeted with an unfriendly crowd: as soon as I entered a threatening rumble rolled across the inn's clientele. I was new, and although my clothes were becoming a shade past grubby it was obvious that I was a police officer. No good could come from me.  
I was really starting to miss having a gun in my holster, cursing myself for not forcing that Officer Allard to give me his. It would probably be of more use in my hands anyway.  
I walked to the bar, run by a burly man and a surly looking woman, and asked for a room for the night. There were only rooms with single beds left and I said I would sleep on the floor then. Cosette needed a good night's rest. I also tried to order the two of us something to eat.  
"The girl can't eat down here," The man said. The smell of ale was strong from him, and I hoped it was from years of working behind the bar rather than him recently indulging himself. "I don't want any crying kids in my pub upsetting my customers."  
I looked round at his 'customers', a rowdy bunch of smelly men that almost burst into a brawl every few minutes. I doubted Cosette would upset them anyway, but I'd rather she not be subjected to this. I told him to forget the meal: he gave me my key and I headed outside back to the stables.  
The stable boy here was hardly a boy anymore: tall, looking about eighteen and from the look of him he should be a blacksmith's apprentice. When I asked, he said his name was Thomas.  
"Anything you need sir?" He asked, picking up a brush to start brushing down the grey mare I had been riding the past day.  
"Actually, I was hoping you could do a favour for me Thomas? You'll get paid for your troubles."  
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  
"Would you mind looking after my...friend here? She isn't allowed in at the bar and I need to go get her some new clothes before the shops close for the day."  
He eyed Cosette in my arms curiously, "Why not just take her with you?"  
"She's fast asleep: had a rough day and I would rather not drag her around to run errands with me."  
He shrugged with a soft smile, "Sure, I don't mind. As long as she doesn't get underfoot."  
I smiled gratefully and set Cosette gently down on her feet. Her eyes popped open: she didn't say anything. "I need to go get us some dinner, would you mind staying here with Thomas while I'm gone?" I gestured to him and he gave her a small wave, "I shouldn't be long."  
She looked like she doubted I was coming back: that I was just going to leave her here in the stable and move on without her. But she nodded, checking my horse was still here. "Be good," I said, feeling strangely awkward telling her so. "And see if Thomas needs any help," I whispered.  
I had turned to leave when I felt her tug on my sleeve. "I'll help out if you bring me a cake," She bargained with a grin.  
I felt myself smile. "I'll see what I can do."

It was growing dark when I finally returned, having successfully achieved all of what I set out to do. It was nice having a weight in my holster again.  
I held a box stretching over both my hands, and resting on that were several slightly-greasy packages wrapped in brown paper.  
I found Cosette standing calmly at the rear of the horse, twisting a pleat into the mare's tail.  
"Get away, Cosette," I warned. "She could kick out."  
"She's fine, sir," Thomas said as he brushed the horse's side. "Misty knows Cosette's there: she won't spook."  
"Misty?" I asked, puzzled.  
"She needed a name," Cosette told me.  
"Did she indeed?" I mumbled, setting down the box.  
"What did you get?" Cosette said excitedly, about to step forwards.  
"Don't start a job you can't finish," Thomas said, not looking up.  
She froze and turned back to her pleating. I walked over to Thomas, mumbled in his ear, "She hasn't been a hindrance I hope?" I handed him a few coins but to my surprise he refused them.  
"The opposite sir, she's been running around all over for me. Fetched water, groomed the mane and tail of all the tangles, and has kept herself busy with pleating. If anything, I should be paying you for the help."  
"Perhaps you would join us for something to eat then, to thank you?" I had made sure to buy extra: incase Thomas was hungry and to make sure Cosette had her fill. I just hadn't expected myself to ask Thomas to sit with us. "We just need somewhere to sit down. I was going to go up into our room but..."  
"You're more than welcome to sit here if you like?" The thought of sitting on upturned buckets was far more appealing than going back into the grime of the inn.  
Cosette finished the braid and tied it off with the cloth she had had in her own hair. I made the mental note to ensure she had a bath before she went to bed tonight.  
I passed around some of the packages: I had found a run-down bakery and had bought six roast beef sandwiches for an extortionate price because there didn't seem to be any alternative. Tasting it, I found the bread to be more stale than fresh and the beef tough. It was food. But the other two ate like it was the best thing they had ever tasted: Cosette managed to finish before Thomas. Each had another helping and after that looked to me pleadingly, asking if I was going to eat the final sandwich. I said I was not, hoping I could keep my stomach from disagreeing, and the two split the sandwich and wolfed it down in two bites.  
How on earth had that eight year old child kept up with the eighteen year old boy?  
Cosette sat there looking content, heaving a deep sigh and licking her lips. "What's in the other bag?" She asked, eyeing the brown bag left that was bigger than any of those the sandwiches had been in.  
I told her to go find out for herself.  
She squealed and pulled out one of the canelés, half of it gone in one bite. She handed the bag to Thomas, who looked at me questioningly. This was an unnecessary luxury, something where what was spent wasn't worth the treat. He looked uneasy accepting so much from me.  
I shrugged, "It's your tip."  
He grinned and started on his own, handing the bag to me. I had never had much of a sweet tooth, but surprisingly the canelé was good: filled with the smooth custard and that dark outer sponge, I couldn't help but think of the few I had had at the rare moments in my childhood. I was shocked that something so sweet had come from that shoddy bakery.  
It was a shock to all when I was the first to finish mine. It was clear on her face that Cosette had hoped I would donate mine to her like my sandwich. I felt guilty until she lay back contently on a pile of straw and clutched a full belly.  
"Ready for bed?" Although it was barely dark outside, she nodded and mumbled an indistinct 'yes'.  
We stood to leave and I shook Thomas' hand. "Make sure the mare is ready to go in the morning." I said to him.  
"Misty," Cosette corrected.  
I tried not to roll my eyes. "Make sure Misty is set to go."  
Thomas waved me off, "It's like you don't expect me to do my job sir."  
I laughed and we headed back inside. I arranged for Cosette to have a bath (helped by the surprisingly not so surly woman behind the bar) and put her to bed. The floor was cold, and hard, and I doubted I would get any sleep. But I didn't mind one bit.


	9. Chapter 9

I woke early, as I was used to, ready and rearing to go. Valjean couldn't have gotten far - not with bringing a child in his wake. I could catch up.  
I glanced to the lump beneath the sheets of the bed and remembered: I was also having to escort a child with me. I had no advantage.  
She stirred and I froze: I didn't want her to wake so early, this may be the first good night's rest she had had in a long time. I slipped out quietly, locking the door behind me - freezing again as the loud lock turned - and went outside to the town to collect some supplies for the next few days.  
I did not like this place: if Cosette had not been so drained I never would have stopped here. It seemed like Valjean had gotten the healthier of the two: he would have breezed through here and continued on. I had a lot of ground to make up and, although it would be difficult, I would have to push us hard in order to catch up to him.  
There was a grocer down on the corner selling fruit that was, if I was being optimistic, past it's best. I found the same baker as last night and bought a partially burned loaf of bread and some jam sandwiches. The butcher sold me some sort of smoked meat that he assured me would last several days, and my canteen was refilled at the inn. For a price, of course.  
I had just walked into the stables to pack our saddlebags and warn Thomas of our departure when I heard a familiar voice speaking with the stable boy.  
I squared her in my gaze, "Cosette, what are you doing down here?"  
She jumped at my voice, looking guilty. She looked far better in the daylight after a bath and wearing her new clothes. Wait a minute...  
"Where did you get those?" I had bought them for her: a simple but sturdy pair of brown trousers, a white shirt and a pair of leather boots that met my expectations and did not quite fit her. She also wore an old jacket with a hem that came to her knees and sleeves that were several inches too long. It would keep out the cold and it wasn't exactly hard to roll sleeves up so I wasn't too annoyed about the size. But I had not given them to her yet: she was supposed to get them when she woke.  
She looked at me sheepishly, "I took a peek in that box you didn't open last night. It was just a peek, honest...just, I figured they were for me: they are far to small for you to wear." She blinked up at me with big eyes, "They are for me, aren't they?"  
I nodded. "Yes they are. But you shouldn't be snooping in my belongings."  
"But...but you got them for me. Doesn't that mean I was snooping in my belongings?"  
I screwed my face up at that, having no reply to this child logic that annoyingly made sense.  
"Why are they boy clothes?"  
"It's all the store had." That was a lie, but I expected it was far more comfortable to ride a horse in trousers rather than skirts and frills. "Is that okay?"  
"Yeah," She grinned. "It means I can do this." She then unexpectedly dropped down to do the splits amongst the straw. "Can't do this in a dress: too constrained."  
"Right... Wait, how did you get down here? I locked the door behind me?" For a second I felt foolish: what if I had left the door open? How irresponsible was that?  
"I...I, erm...I kind of climbed out the window."  
"What!?"  
"Well you weren't there," She looked at me like this was all my fault, "And I wanted to come and see Thomas. So, yeah. Out the window." She was swinging her arms back and forth, looking to Thomas to stick up for her.  
He looked as surprised as I was.  
I rubbed my temples: this kid was going to be a handful. "Thomas, would you mind preparing my horse for our departure? I really must get going."  
"Misty..." Cosette mumbled.  
I rolled my eyes but didn't correct myself.  
Thomas rushed around, saddling up Misty, checking her shoes were in good condition, as I packed our saddlebags. Cosette hung around me curiously until I handed her a jam sandwich and she went to sit by the door in the sunshine, singing something quietly to herself, swinging her legs so that they clattered off of the bucket she was sitting on.  
"That sounds pretty Cosette," Thomas told her. She smiled and sang a little louder, just loud enough that I caught a few words.  
"A castle on a cloud?" I asked her. "Impossible: the only thing above the clouds is the kingdom of heaven."  
"What about the stars?" She countered, looking annoyed that I was questioning her song.  
"I think it's pretty," Thomas said again.  
"I'm not saying it's not pretty," I said, trying not to get on her bad side. "Just... misinformed."  
She scowled and stopped singing altogether, and it took Thomas several minutes of coaxing before she started singing again - and also a deal that I would stop questioning what she was saying.  
I shrugged: I only tried to help her.  
Her little voice carried on, acting like I wasn't there. "Who's the lady all dressed in white?" Thomas asked her.  
"So he can ask questions," I grumbled.  
Thomas seemed to have come to the conclusion that she had made up the song herself. I was sceptical, but as she spoke I began to agree with him.  
"She's my mum, I think..." She said delicately.  
"You never met your mother?" I asked.  
She shook her head, staring intently at the ground, "She would write: she wrote to me a lot. And she explained why she never had time to see me because she was so busy working so she could keep me at the inn. But it doesn't make sense! Surely we would have been better off together: I don't believe that leaving me behind was the best option she had."  
I didn't know what to say to console her: the only time I had met her mother when she was alive I had been trying to arrest her. I felt a twinge of guilt then that I didn't understand. Why should I feel guilty? Fantine had broken the law, had assaulted a highly regarded man. I was not stupid, I knew that he must have been harassing her in some way - two guesses what about - but she was the one who used violence. She lashed out and did wrong, and the law was clear on what I was to do. I was correct in my actions and I stood by them.  
But I wasn't going to tell Cosette about it.  
"You don't know," Thomas said, trying to calm her down. "Children can never see what parents do for them."  
"How was I supposed to see!" She said, getting to her feet and kicking some straw. "She was never close enough to see."  
"I think it's time we head off," I said carefully. During Cosette's outburst, Thomas had finished with Misty. I paid him, including a tip that he hadn't noticed yet so couldn't refuse, and set myself and Cosette up on Misty's back outside the stables.  
"He's right Cosette," I said. "You just can't know the whole situation."  
"My mum didn't care about me."  
I tried to tell her she was wrong, about the only reason me being here was because Fantine cared for her - I didn't mention that it was mainly because I was chasing after a criminal who Fantine had entrusted with her child - but she wasn't listening. Her spine was set and stiff, and she was looking far ahead as we set off. I think I saw a tear roll off of her chin onto her chest. I decided not to mention that either.


	10. Chapter 10

Cosette was easy enough to travel with: she wasn't one to complain and would ride all day chatting away and singing to herself. I didn't push to hard though: our first proper day's ride had left her with a strange walk that I assumed was used to compensate for bruises. Although she didn't say a word about it, I had to mind and remember she was just a child. I had to hold back our progress to make sure she wasn't in too much pain though.  
I didn't mind much however: convicts may run, but the law always won. I would find Valjean, as I always did, and this matter would be resolved then. I would not, however, harm a young girl for the sake of bringing him down. The time for vengeance would come. Justice, I mean. The time for justice would come.  
Justice always came.  
And, just as I had predicted, we gained ground on Valjean.  
Each time we stopped - be it for a night's rest or just to stretch our legs - I asked travellers of chance sightings of Valjean recently. The replies started out vague - a man and young girl passed through, but that kind of sight isn't exactly rare - to witnesses filling in the description of Valjean. Some described Eponine and Cosette would whisper to me that it sounded like her.  
We had stopped at an inn for lunch and a drink and were sitting by the window when I saw him. Valjean, and a girl I assumed to be Eponine, had just dismounted outside. Valjean handed her something and stayed with the horse, sending the girl into the same inn as us to get their canteens refilled. I have no idea at what point we had managed to over take him, but he was here! He was a breath away, and if I wasn't careful he would look in the window, see me and then be gone in an instant. I kept my face hidden from his direct view.  
Cosette was complaining about the heat - she had been for days now. "You don't understand how annoying hair is," She insisted. "It clings to a sweaty neck in a tangled mop and its so uncomfortable."  
"Keep your voice and head down," I whispered to her, afraid Eponine would look over and see Cosette.  
"But I listen to you complain. I don't even have a scrap of cloth to keep the hair away from my face anymore."  
"That's because you gave it to the horse," I reminded her, watching as Eponine turned to leave.  
"She looks pretty," Cosette insisted.  
"Yes, yes." As Eponine exited, she and Valjean started to walk away, leading their horse behind them. It seemed as though they were going to take a break. It should be easy to capture him here. I looked to Cosette, who was currently trying to tie her hair in a knot away from her neck, "If it makes you so unhappy, go do something about it."  
She stuck her tongue out at me, "Fine, I will."  
I put a coin down in front of her on the table, "Ask the barmaid if she has a spare scrap of cloth or something, and then meet me outside in five minutes. We need to get moving."  
"But we only just stopped," She whined.  
"And I have just spotted a...dear old friend that I desperately need to see."  
"Is that why you were hiding just now?"  
This kid seemed far too intuitive for her own good. "Just go sort out your hair while I go get the horse."

I was tapping my foot, horse reins in my hand. Five minutes I had told her, had I not? Surely someone in there had a means to tie the child's hair back?  
The door of the inn swung open, a group of men and young boy exiting. Why was it so difficult for people to be punctual.  
The boy broke off from the group and made his way over to me. "I don't have any change to spare you," I warned him before he got closer and I could see the face underneath the choppy haircut of his.  
I groaned. "Cosette, what did you do?"  
She ran her hands excitedly though her short hair, "Isn't it wonderful? A guy overheard us talking and offered to shear off all my hair for the money you had given me. Far better than what I could so with some cloth."  
"But... you're supposed to be a young lady!"  
"Well you put me in boy's clothes, so why can't I give myself a boy's haircut?" She scowled and crossed her arms. The haircut was very uneven - this man must have cut at it with a blunt knife. It was incredibly choppy, and once I had the time and a pair of scissors I would need to fix it. If she was going to cut all of her hair off, she better at least look tidy.  
"Just..." I sighed. "Come on, we need to catch up to my friend."  
"You're not mad?" She asked tentatively, less bossy than the moment before.  
"Why should I be?" I meant the question - I didn't understand why I was upset to see her in this sorry state. It wasn't as though she was my child, or that I was going to be caring for her for long. As soon as I had Valjean, I would find her somewhere to live. I didn't know where, but there must be a nice place out there for a little kid like her somewhere. "Just...come on."  
She hauled herself up onto Misty's back and set off down the road in the direction I had seen Valjean take.

I came to a patch of greenery situated by a river just outside of town. Valjean was seated with his back to me on the bank-side, and Eponine was a little way from him splashing in the river edge. She had taken off her shoes and was splashing about barefoot, her skirts held away from the water in her hands.  
Cosette saw her, but was far more fascinated by the water. "Can I go paddling too?" She begged.  
I chewed my lip, uncertain. I needed to talk to Valjean: I didn't want to plainly arrest him in front of these two. But I had to sneak up on him: he had already run once when we made a deal and I doubt he stick around to listen to me. We dismounted and I said to Cosette, "Alright, but don't go over until I've sat down with my friend. I just need a minute, then you can go and play." She seemed pleased with this deal, helping me lead Misty to the post that Valjean had tied his own horse to. "Just wait here for a few minutes," I told her.  
She waved me off and lay down on the ground to look at the sky. I considered warning her about the possibility of the horses trampling her, but I doubted she would heed my warning.  
With that, I set off to the bank-side to talk to the man who had caused all of this trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

I sat down, satisfied to see Valjean jump at my appearance. He tensed, obviously ready to run. "Relax," I told him. "We made a deal remember? Just because you decided to disregard it doesn't mean I am going to."  
He didn't say anything for a minute, just stared out at the water. "You broke that deal first, Javert. I did what I had to."  
I furrowed my brows in confusion. "I broke it? Who are you to blame me when you're the coward who ran again?"  
"I did not choose to run." His voice sounded unsteady, like he was holding in his anger, "You made me."  
"Well done Valjean," I grumbled, "Just blame me again for your actions."  
Valjean stood with balled fists, glowering down at me. "I am doing good - I have been for years. I never did anything wrong and I will not let you stop me helping this child."  
"You're the one who agreed to come with me after this trip is over. You would not subject yourself to the chain gang again unless you knew that you had done wrong."  
"You voided the deal." He kept looking down at me as he called, "Cosette, let's go." He got no reply and huffing in frustration - at me or her, I do not know - he looked up and said, "Cosette - who's that boy?"  
I looked over and wanted to groan: Cosette must have taken my warning to wait a minute literally. She was already splashing around in the water, and although I could see that Eponine recognised her for who she was she didn't seem to care. They were playing.  
"That 'boy' there is the Cosette that you seeked," I told him.  
He looked down at me sceptically, "That's funny, Inspector. I never knew you had a sense of humour. But, as you can see, Cosette is already in my company. Not to mention, Cosette is a young lady."  
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant so that his curiosity would make him sit down again. I kept quiet until my silence won out and he sat back down.  
"Explain," He said in a clipped voice.  
"The child you travel with," I inclinded my head to the river, "Is none other than Eponine Thénardier, daughter of those two lovely innkeepers we have both had the pleasure of meeting. The child I bring with me is Cosette."  
"The boy is Cosette?"  
"What?" I blinked, "No, no. Just because she has a boy's clothing and a short hair cut doesn't mean she's a boy."  
"She looks like a boy."  
I fumed, "Anyway, you have somehow managed to kidnap a child from her family and I'm here to take her home."  
"I thought you would be here to capture me?"  
I scowled, "That too."  
He thought for a minute as though trying to find the lie in my words. "But...she came up to me and told me she was Cosette."  
"She told you?" That seemed very strange.  
"I went outside to find Cosette, she came over and introduced herself. Seemed more than happy to come with me." He looked at me with a sideways glance, "You're not looking to smug anymore Inspector."  
"I'm too confused to be smug right now."  
We sat in silence for a few minutes, until I said, "So we just ask her what is going on then."  
Valjean nodded in agreement, but said, "However, first we must discuss what kind of truce you wish to build."  
"I thought we had one?" I said, still angry that he was blaming me for his cowardice.  
"Stop playing dumb," He growled quietly. "I saw you."  
"Of course you saw me, we were having a discussion!"  
"No," He said with force. "I saw you go into that police station."  
I paused. "You were following me?"  
"Don't act so betrayed - of course I followed you. I was wary of how easily you agreed to our terms - and with good reason!"  
My face grew hot in anger, "How dare you? Do I have no privacy?"  
"I had no privacy for 19 years," He said. "And you were going to turn me in!"  
"No, no I wasn't," I tried to think fast. That past plan had fallen through, and I needed his trust in order to keep him around long enough to find a way to capture him. The anger on his face made me reach towards my holster, and I had an idea. "I wasn't there to turn you in - I went to get this." I withdrew the gun and set it down on the grass between us.  
He reached for it tentatively. The look I shot him made him retract his hand. "We had an understanding," He said, trying to make me feel guilty.  
"Pass me the gun that you took," I challenged, "And I'll apologise if I find the barrel empty."  
His cheeks grew red, "I only did that after I left: I couldn't leave Cos- Eponine and I unarmed." He gave me a pointer look, "There are dangerous people about."  
"And I was escorting a fugitive as he fulfilled his last request as a free man: does that sound like a situation you would like to enter into without a fire arm?"  
He started to complain, but I wanted to press on. "So what do we do now?"  
"Why did you bring Cosette?"  
I didn't want to tell him it was because I couldn't leave her to be cast out. Just in case it humanised me to him. I wanted to remain the unrelenting inspector. "To rub the fact that you had managed to take the wrong child in your face."  
That glower returned, "Eponine told me she was Cosette - how was I supposed to know wrong?"  
"Fantine told you of her daughter's hard life. I'm betting Eponing was clean and healthy and wearing that lovely dress when you met her?"  
Valjean said nothing.  
"Meanwhile," I continued, "When I met Cosette, she was filthy, gaunt and hiding in a cupboard. You should been able to work out the difference."  
"So what do you plan to do with Cosette, now that you have her?"  
I shrugged, "It was your plan. We take Cosette wherever you wanted her to go, then take Eponine back to her rather hysterical parents," He flinched at that, "And then you come with me, nice and calmly, to live out the rest of your days in punishment."  
"You would still let me take Cosette somewhere safe?"  
"We had a deal," I said gruffly.  
We did not speak for a while then, both of us looking to the two young children, who's childhoods had been so vastly different, playing together happily in the water.  
"Wait...so why does she look like a boy?"  
"Some misguided choices," I answered, unhappy to find myself sounding sheepish.  
"And the hair?"  
"She was too warm," I said, hoping it would be a justified answer.  
"She said she was warm," Valjean said slowly, "So you hacked at her hair with what I assume must have been a butter knife?"  
I decided it would be far too embarrassing to admit Cosette had wandered off by herself and had some stranger cut it off. It didn't exactly make me look like a responsible carer. So instead I stayed silent, and so did he.


	12. Chapter 12

Cosette came rushing over, a grin set into her red face as she shook water from her short hair.  
Valjean stared at her with a look of wonder, clearly noting the differences between Eponine and her. He muttered something about being stupid. Finally, something we agreed on.  
"I didn't know we were planning on meeting up with Eponine." She cast Valjean a sideways glance, "Is this the man who was supposed to take care of me?"  
Valjean winced next to me, unable to hide it from the young girl's view. "I am sorry for leaving you there, Cosette."  
She shrugged and lay down on the ground, fanning her hands in her face. "I don't mind. I got to meet The Inspector."  
Valjean looked at me with a raised eyebrow, "Inspector?"  
I didn't understand his question and looked on imploringly.  
"You're telling me you never told this young lady your name?"  
"It never came up."  
Cosette sat up very quickly, "Wait, you're telling me your name isn't 'The Inspector'?"  
Valjean laughed, a sound that I had not heard in all those 19 years I guarded him. "That isn't a name young one." He continued to look at me expectantly, obviously wanting me to offer up my information.  
"You know you can call me Javert, Cosette," I said to her and she lay back down.  
"I prefer The Inspector."  
Valjean crossed his arms, "You're not going to tell her your name? Why? You know mine."  
"I don't know yours," Cosette muttered.  
Valjean blinked, "Er, no. I meant Inspe- Javert knows my name." As if to show him up, Valjean extended his hand towards Cosette. "Forgive me mademoiselle. My name is Jean Valjean, but you may call me Jean if you like."  
Cosette didn't bother to sit up, just lazily waved her hand around until she caught on to Valjean's fingers. "And I'm Cosette."  
"Cosette what?"  
I wanted desperately to stretch out on the grass: what was it with this guy and names? Pushing so much to get answers would only lead him into trouble.  
"I don't know my last name," Cosette said quietly.  
As I said, trouble.  
Valjean seemed taken back for a second, then smiled warmly. "If you like Cosette, you could become part of my family? I lost my first one so long ago, it would be nice to share my name again."  
"I would be Jean Valjean?" She said, her eyes staring up at the clouds as though willing them to shape this new life in the sky.  
He smiled, "Just Valjean. Cosette Valjean."  
It was silent: the only noises being the bubbling of the water and Eponine continuing to paddle.  
"I would like that," Cosette said, grinning.  
I sent Valjean a deathly glare: how dare he. How dare he give this young girl such hope when he had given his word that he would finally let me capture him. He was either planning on breaking his promise to me - again - or lying to the child.  
When put in such terms, a part of me hoped he wished to dash my hopes instead of hers. A very small part.  
"Cosette, would you mind bringing Eponine here?" Valjean asked. "I believe I have some things to discuss with her."  
Cosette ran off and I glared at Valjean, "You're being cruel. You know you can't give her such a life."  
His lips curled into a small smile, "I have a plan."  
"Which is?"  
He tapped his nose. "You really think I would tell you? Sorry Inspector, but I am keeping that information to myself. Don't want you sending a squad ahead of us to intercede."  
"Why should you be so worried?" I asked slyly, "Why would I feel the need to send a squad ahead of us when you will come with me quietly and willingly in just a few short days from now."  
Valjean stayed quiet, watching me carefully. He opened his mouth to retort when Eponine came slinking over to us.  
"Yes, papa?" She said, batting her eyes innocently.  
Valjean raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her, "Is there anything you want to tell me, Eponine?"  
At the mention of her name her eyes flicked from Cosette to Valjean several times before coming to rest on the floor. The word, "Yes?" escaped her lips meekly.  
"What do you think you are doing?" Valjean's voice was soft, controlled, but I heard a concealed harshness beneath the words. Cosette came to sit by my side, obviously sensing the rising tension that would most likely lead to a fight.  
"I- I..." Eponine seemed at a loss for words. Her hair was long, hanging down to her elbows, and she twirled it uneasily around her fingers, not meeting Valjean's eyes.  
"I came to your home to give an unfortunate girl a new chance at life." Valjean was obviously going for the guilting method to punish the girl. "And instead of helping her as I thought I was, I found you. A healthy, happy girl who decided to lie to me and take the chance that I had created for Cosette."  
"I wasn't happy," She muttered, sounding absolutely miserable. Her dress had gotten soaked in the water: she was shivering.  
"Pardon?" Valjean prodded.  
She started pleating strands of hair, focusing on that intently. "I wasn't happy. I never was." She glanced quickly to Cosette, who had gotten bored and was staring at clouds again. "Mother never let me go outside and play. She said a young lady doesn't 'play'. And she would have been furious if I had ripped my skirts." She quickly wiped away tears leaking from her eyes. Her hands shook, and I got the impression that the tears embarrassed her. She didn't want to look weak, but her eyes were betraying her.  
I was impressed with the 8 year old who knew she didn't want to get her point across by using tears.  
"You lied to me because you wanted to play?" Valjean said harshly.  
"She lied because she wasn't happy," I told him. He looked at me with surprise, cutting of his next question to Eponine. "Should she need a response deeper than that? She was unhappy, so she left."  
"She left Cosette in that hellhole!" Valjean hissed, hoping the two girls didn't hear the cuss.  
"So blind to the truth again Valjean," I sais, accidentally sounding condescending. "Think about it: if you took Cosette those innkeepers would have turned to Eponine to fill her place. Saving the child from her fate meant you were making someone else take over it."  
"So what do you suggest?" He raised an eyebrow, as though knowing what I wanted to suggest and daring me to say it.  
"I think..."  
"Can I stay with you too?" Eponine burst in, worried that the road we were taking the conversation would seal her destiny in the inn. "You wanted to save Cosette, why not me too?"  
"Why not indeed Valjean?" I asked. This is what happened when one became righteous: you save one and you need to save them all. It can start with a small good dead - showing Fantine kindness on the streets - and snowball into the problem we currently had. Discussing what to do with to young girls whom we had uprooted from their home.  
Eponine was looking increasingly embarrassed by the tears on her face, scrubbing furiously at her cheeks. Valjean sighed, looking at me to check if what he was going to say was okay.  
"You may come with us, Eponine," He looked away when I gave a curt nod, "but I do not want to hear any more lies from you. Is that clear?"  
Eponine stared at him with sparkling eyes, shocked.  
Valjean looked unhappy, but he stood and helped Cosette up, asking her if she would like one of the dresses he had bought on the trip so far.  
Cosette shook her head furiously, that short hair spinning wildly around her head. "Are you mad? These are the best clothes I've ever had."  
Valjean rolled his eyes but grinned and walked over to his horse to check his saddlebags. Cosette went after him, asking him flurries of questions about where they were going. The mischievous smile on his face told me that he wasn't telling her a thing.  
That left Eponine and I on the grass. I patted the ground next to me and she collapsed down. We sat in silence, except for her sniffing her nose and still rubbing at her eyes. Her face was red and she didn't meet my eye.  
I pulled a white handkerchief from my pocket and held it out to her, still white and crisply folded after all these days on the road. She took it gratefully and cleaned herself up.  
Valjea called to us, saying he wanted get going. I pushed to stand, having no issue to get a move on. All the better for getting these two somewhere safe and finally getting to go home in peace.  
Eponine stood and tried to hand me back the handkerchief. "You keep it," I said.  
"I won't be crying again," She said, her voice steeled so it would not warble.  
I took it from her, not sure how to broach the topic. She had crossed her arms and was staring down, blinking as a fresh wave of tears seemed to have crept up on her. "It isn't a weakness unless you let it be one," I told her.  
She looked up at me, confused. "You may think it makes you look weak, but that doesn't happen unless you let it stop you making your point." I shifted uncomfortably, "Do you understand what I mean?"  
She nodded, a small smile curling in the corner of her mouth. "I am only as weak as I let myself be."  
That was a better way of wording it than I had. She left, swinging her arms around her, the cause of her red eyes disregarded. I shifted my jacket, pulling it back into place after it rode up. It was surprising, how quickly she had shrugged off the anxiety caused by the tears. It had taken me years to harness my own weaknesses, and again I found myself being surprised by her.


	13. Chapter 13

Travelling felt...awkward, to say the least. Cosette now rode with Valjean, and although I had Eponine with me I missed Cosette. Eponine was a bit more resigned: seeming bored of the world around her and entertained herself by pleating stands into her hair and Misty's mane.

I was even missing trying to stop my eyes rolling at the things Cosette came out with. I almost rolled my eyes at that thought: it seemed I was starting to go sappy.

I rode a bit behind Valjean, giving Eponine some space from him to make sure she didn't cry again. I wasn't made of handkerchiefs. We didn't really talk for the rest of the day, and again I missed Cosette's nonsensical chatter. Ahead of us, she and Valjean talked animatedly, and at one point Valjean let out a deep booming laugh. I don't think I have ever heard someone laugh so heartily: how could someone who had endured so many years of pain still laugh like that?

I had never laughed like that.

I wasn't envious: envy and police work do not work well together. I would push it and say that I might be jealous, but she was smiling and happy and I shouldn't mind. I shouldn't. But I did.

Here Valjean was, telling Cosette he would give her everything she had ever hoped for, and the lies spilling from his mouth made my skin crawl. I felt protective of her - how could I not - and I didn't want him filling her head with false dreams. Why wouldn't he listen to me and see it wasn't fair on her?

He may have a plan, I'll bite, but he couldn't be in the picture. I may sound naive but I had to believe he was finally going to give all of this up. Yet they laughed and he made her promises and I swear I heard her call him 'papa' at one point. My skin continued to crawl like there were ants in my jacket.

"We should stop soon," I called up to Valjean. The light had been fading for a while but we had not seen anywhere we could stay all day.

He twisted around in his saddle to look at me, gesturing around us, "And where do you suppose we stop?" I caught sight of him supporting Cosette who leaned back against him in sleep. I was currently doing the same for Eponine.

I spurred Misty on to walk alongside Valjean to stop us shouting to eachother. "Maybe we should just camp?" I suggested, not overly fond of the idea but seeing no alternative.

"We have no tents, no sleeping mats. I'm no stranger to roughing it, but the girls won't be used to it."

"So we just ride all night long? How is that any better for them?"

Valjean sighed, "I don't want to sleep in the open like this. It's too vulnerable."

I decided not to push it: even though it made sense to stop, I agreed that stopping for the night would be unpleasant. Even if we were lucky enough to avoid any rain, we would not escape the chill. Better to keep moving and stay warm than stop.

We didn't talk as the night swept in, but we stayed alongside one another. Soon we left the empty road for a path winding through a wood. At first I thought to suggest this more secluded area to make camp in, but the idea was unfavourable in the dark. There was no way to properly have a look around to determine it was safe, and I didn't want to just set the girls down in a place none of us knew anything about.

Then again, I wasn't exactly a fan of the 'blindly wander through the woods' plan but Valjean seemed confident enough and I'd be damned if I showed myself up next to a convict like him. My gun was a welcome weight at my side, although the thought of Valjean with his own made me uneasy: he could draw it extremely fast and end me if I lost my focus at any point.

I subtly tried to move Misty across the path to put a little more space between us.

Obviously not subtly enough. Valjean looked at me with a raised eyebrow, "Don't you trust me, Inspector?"

I let out a bark of a laugh that sounded confident, but immediately regretted it as the sound echoed out through the trees. "I have no reason to."

"We're in this together now, Javert. We need to trust one another."

"I'll push it to merely tolerating you, Valjean."

He shook his head. "Lets at least appear pleasant to one another. Call me Jean."

I eyed up Valjean. "Do I have to?"

He looked frustrated. "That was the part where you tell me your first name and we greet eachother in a far friendlier manner."

"Inspector."

He huffed out a puff of air, "You're actual name," He moaned.

"That is my actual name."

"God almighty man, you're annoying!"

I shrugged. I wasn't going to give him such a thing. No one earns it lightly - it's a name of my past and where I came from. I did not wish to revisit the past, and my name had been abandoned with that old life. Valjean was just going to have to accept that.

"Well, I am being the bigger person here, so you may still call me Jean if you so wish."

That sounded like a very childish thing to say for someone being 'the bigger person', and I was ready to tell him so when we heard something ahead of us.

I would have paid it no mind except Misty skittered slightly in her step, unnerved. Valjean and I looked at eachother before looking ahead of us again. We heard the same rustle, and the snap of a twig.

"Ruffians?" I whispered.

"Dinner?" Valjean grinned.

"Let's hope it's your suspicion and not mine," I grumbled.

"One of us should check it out."

I jumped from Misty's back, making sure Eponine stayed in place before leading Misty over to him and handing him the reins. "You want me to trust you? I trust you to wait right here with the girls and the horses until I come back."

Valjean peererd at me with a look of annoyance. "Like I keep trying to tell you, we both have a common interest in this."

I couldn't help but think that his 'common interest' would be better accheived without me in the picture. I walked away, grateful for the soft earth masking the clip of my heel.

I rested my hand lightly on my holster. suddenly embarrassed to be unable to walk towards a rustle in a forest without reaching for my gun. As I approached the site of the noise, I found myself crossing my fingers in the hope of finding a cottontail rabbit.

I had thought it had been a mere rustle of a bush, but as I approached I saw a small path stemming off. I looked back to Valjean, unsure, and he waved me on. Angry that he thought I had looked to him for reassurance, I stomped forwards.

I had followed the path a few minutes, completely surrounded by dark forest, when I heard an unmistakable click. And as must as I hoped it was the snap of a twig, I knew it was the cocking of a gun.

Sudden, unwarranted fear coiled in my gut and I found myself freezing before the cool metal pressed against my neck.

My first thought was: Valjean. I felt stupid, foolish, at allowing him this opportunity.

"Hands where I can see them, Inspector."

The voice was unfamiliar. I had no idea who the man holding the gun was, and although it relieved me that Valjean hadn't fooled me yet again, I still had a gun to my head: the relief wasn't enough.

"Empty your pockets, sir," The voice said behind me, "and we won't have any problems."


	14. Chapter 14

I felt stupid, standing there with my hands in the air with no plan as to how to get out of this mess. "I'll assume this is a robbery?" I asked, trying to sound calm and smooth.

My assailant didn't reply. Either he wasn't one for talking or my question was really that stupid.

"Turn around," He said. "And no funny business, or it'll be the last thing you do."

I turned, keeping my hands in the air. I was surprised to find I recognised the man, even if it was only vaguely. Dirty blond hair, bloodshot eyes, a smell of drink emanating from him that seemed stuck to his person."Montfermeil?" I asked, sure he was one of the town's tight lipped citizens.

The tensing in his lips told me I had recalled correctly. "Your pockets, sir."

I opened up my jacket, slowly, and the man seemed ready to panic when he saw my holster. I froze, sure I could see his finger about to pull the trigger of his own gun. With a grunt, he lunged forwards and took my only weapon - why have I never carried a knife or some other useful implement in my boot? - and dropped it on the ground by his side. No point littering up his hands when all he needed was one shot to keep me contained.

I continued on, pulling out my pouch of coins. "You know you're making an awful mistake here, Monsieur. You know I am an inspector, don't you see how this will end badly for you?" I was just trying to stall some time but apparently he took some offence at my words, reaching out and snatching the money from me.

"Unless your ghost cares to hunt me down, I believe I shall be just fine," he growled.

So he was going to kill me anyway? Just wonderful. Of course, I could shout to Valjean for help, but he had the girls to keep an eye on. Hopefully this man would let them pass. Besides, once Valjean arrived I would most assuredly be dead.

"The jacket too," He ordered.

I raised an eyebrow, "And what will you do with an officer's jacket?"

"Not freeze to death this winter," he said.

I removed the jacket, shivering as the cool night air hit the thin fabric of my shirt. I passed it over, looking at it longingly.

He stepped back from me and quickly riffled through the pockets. Before I could take advantage of his distraction he was done, throwing down the useless odds of paper that tended to accumulate in pockets, and my whistle. I could hardly believe that even though he was in the middle of a robbery he found the time to look through the bits and pieces in my pockets.

Satisfied, he slipped one arm into the sleeve, transferred the gun to his other arm and shrugged my jacket on. It was a bit small for him, but I decided not to mention it.

"Turn back around."

I almost complained that he should at least be a man and look my in the eyes when he ended me, but there was another thought on my mind. If I was going to die anyway, didn't he realise that made the gun in his hand redundant? He used its threat to keep me in place, but if the threat was imminent it lost its power.

"Turn," He barked.

I took a deep breath, not looking directly at him. If it was to be my final breath, I would not have it cut short because he saw the defiance in my eyes. On the exhale, I tensed, ready to rush him when a gunshot cut through the night, and there was a sudden pain in my arm.

Stunned, I stepped back and hit a tree, leaning into it. I looked down, and although the bullet had merely grazed the surface of my arm my stomach coiled. Between my shoulder and elbow, a bullet had gouged a narrow canal out of my skin and left a tear in my shirt. I was suddenly furious - if the man was going to kill me he could at least do it right. He was in point blank range - how on God's green earth had he missed me?

But when I looked up to insult his uselessness with a gunfire I died - for surely no one could make such a poor shot twice - I found that he was no longer in front of me. Or anywhere near me.

I was confused until Valjean stepped out of the shadows, putting his gun away. He came over, eyes searching for my wound until it rested on the pitiful scratch in my shoulder. He huffed angrily as though it was my own fault.

I scowled. "You shot me, didn't you!" I accused.

He just shrugged, like it was a story we would laugh about one day. "Guns have never been my thing."

"Oh that justifies it," I grumbled, clutching my arm.

"You are such a drama queen!" Valjean huffed. "If you hadn't fallen back like you did when you were hit, he never would have gotten away!"

"Wait, so this is my fault?"

"You couldn't just take your scratch like a man," He grumbled, holstering his gun.

"You shot me? How is this my fault?" I stepped towards him. "I was in a bit of shock to find a gun had gone off and I was alive. Excuse me for going a bit weak at the knees. And you're the one who shot me!"

"If I had known you were fine, he never would have gotten away," he grumbled again.

"Well go on then, go track down the ruffian who just ran off with all of my money and jacket."

"don't use that tone with me," he warned. "At least I tried to do something."

"The something you tried to do was shoot me before he did," I reminded him.

"And you stood there, doing nothing, waiting to die." He grabbed my forearm then, pulling me into the weak light to properly look at the scratch. He surprised me then my pulling a bandage from his pocket, a clean handkerchief and a flask of something that made my eyes water from this distance when he opened it. Before I could say anything, he was dabbing at my wound while I gritted my teeth against the sting.

"I was just about to take control of the situation actually," I told him.

He rolled his eyes patronisingly, "I'm sure you were."

"I was!" I insisted, wincing slightly as he placed pressure on my arm.

"Stay still," He said.

"I was going to rush him," I continued on, feeling the childish need to cross my arms defiantly. "Take him by surprise. I didn't need your help."

"Yeah, well you got my help. So stop acting like a damsel in denial and hold still!"

"I'm a police officer," I grumbled more to myself than him, "I was going to be fine."

But I knew that wasn't true. Without Valjean I would most likely have become fertiliser for the forest around us. I felt the warranted need to get out of here: it was starting to feel claustrophobic.

Valjean wrapped the bandage around my arm and proclaimed, "There!" As though I should thank him for doing such a good job patching me up after he had done such a good job shooting me in the first place. As I grumbled to myself a bit more, Valjean said, "We should get back to the girls. They're probably worried."

I paused. "You left them, alone, on the road, in the middle of the forest, possibly getting attacked like we just had been?"

Valjean had the right to look sheepish. "They'll be fine."

I started marching off: partly to get the girls, partly to warm myself up and not allow myself to start shivering. Valjean hung back for a minute, then came jogging up to me and held out his hand. He had stopped to pick up what that criminal had discarded, and offered me back my gun and my whistle. The two things I still had on my person that could label me as an enforcer of the law.

As I took my belongings back I said, "Thank you, Jean." The look on his face suggested that he thought I was thanking him for more than just picking up my stuff. And I was okay with that.


	15. Chapter 15

"Papa!" A small voice called as we returned to the forest track, and a small gale rushed past me and into Jean. 'I heard gunfire,' Cosette announced worriedly.

Jean smiled, "And how would a sweet thing like yourself know what gunfire sounded like?"

With a huff, I left Valjean to his parental moment and hurried up the path to Eponine who was struggling to stop both horses wandering off at their own volition. "You okay?" She asked quietly, a quick glance to the drops of blood on my sleeve.

I took the reins from her small hands, "Peachy keen," I grumbled.

Already distracted, she had forgotten me and was looking down towards Jean and Cosette with longing in her eyes. Jean was telling her the 'exciting' story of my rescue, and she cheered loudly when he proclaimed the villain to be defeated. Hardly – I was fighting the cold and had been shot by a supposed comrade, and did not appreciate being regarded as the damsel in distress Jean was making me out to be.

Eponine was practically green with envy, and her eyes had gone glassy. Awkwardly, in a manner I hoped was comforting, I touched her shoulder. Her gaze broke, and she looked at me, blinking furiously. "You okay?" I asked, gesturing my head to the family moment.

She shrugged, looked away.

"You miss talking to him?" I pressed.

She nodded, and in a quiet voice said, "He told me lots of stories, until _she _came along."

I decided that explaining the logic of the situation – pointing out Eponine's wrongdoings and how she had brought this upon herself – would not lighten her mood. Children are selfish – she didn't see why she shouldn't have done what she did.

But this was the most I had heard her speak all day, so I asked, "What kind of stories?"

There was a weak smile, and she gave me her full attention, absentmindedly stroking Misty's nose. "Mostly the adventures of a swash-bucking rouge and his shadow. The rouge ran everywhere, wanting to fly free, but his shadow was always at his ankles, holding him down."

I felt my face grow hot – so I was supposed to be some shadow? A laugh built in my chest: I supposed the description fit me well. Always one step behind Valjean, and yet he still ran.

Finally, Cosette and Jean began walking back towards us. "We should get going," I called, uneasy to be standing around much longer. A wind somehow worked its way amongst the trunks to reach us, and my shirt didn't keep out the chill. Instead, it billowed and allowed cold air currents to run against my skin, drawing a shiver from me.

"You don't wish to rest?" Jean asked me as they approached. Cosette stared at the cut in my shirt, then turned to look adoringly at Valjean.

"I'm fine," I grumbled, clamping my jaw shut to stop it trembling. It really was growing frightfully cold.

Jean shrugged, "Fine by me. You going to be warm enough?"

I repeated my last answer, and Valjean swung himself onto his horse's back before lifting Cosette to sit ahead of him. I waited for Eponine to hoist herself into the saddle, keeping a firm grip on the reins, before clamouring up behind her.

On the move again, I grew colder as the energy I had gained in the night's events waned away to nothing. There was nothing I could do to stop the tremors now, feeling them running from my spine across my skin.

Eponine leaned back into me, heavily. As she pressed in, her small frame provided me with heat. "You're shivering quite a lot," She said.

"I lost my jacket," I told her.

"That was a silly thing to do."

I felt my mouth quirk up into a smile, and I needed to defend myself. "It was stolen. By a ruffian. With a gun."

She tried to turn to look at me when she heard that, but realised the twist would involve her not being able to warm me up. She settled looking ahead of us, but I could tell I had piqued her interest. "He's the one that shot your arm?"

Glad she couldn't see my face fall into a scowl, I agreed with her as I pretended to implant daggers into Valjean's back. "He would have hit a lot worse if Jean hadn't turned up to help me."

She grew silent. Let her think he's a hero – in a few days, she and Cosette would have new lives and would never need to know of mine and Jean's history. We could give them these pseudo-memories at least, a happy thought to hold onto through the years.

"Are you still cold?" She asked.

I wanted to tell her I was more than cold. I wanted to tell her that I was using all the energy I had left to refrain from shivering. I wanted her sympathy, but she saw Valjean as some sort of super-human, and a part of me wanted that too. Children weren't the only selfish ones.

Instead, I changed the subject. "So, in the end, how does this swash-buckling rouge beat his shadow?"

A yawn escaped her, as she told me, "He runs towards the light. He knows that one day, if he just gets close enough, the light will make the shadow melt away."

A lump formed in my throat, and it felt awkward to ask, "Does he ever rest?"

She shook her head. "There isn't any time for that. If he stopped, the shadow would bring him back down into darkness. His struggle would have been for nothing."

I nodded in comprehension. In a few moments, her breaths were smooth and even in the silent forest. Now more than ever, I kept myself still so as not to disturb her. That lump in my throat didn't go away.

I was the being of shadows in Valjean's tale: I was the one that would suffocate him in darkness as he strained towards the light. I would stop him reaching it.

In a voice very unlike my own, I found myself asking her, "How does the story end?"

I didn't expect an answer, believing her to be sleeping, but she replied curtly with, "I don't know. Papa didn't get that far."

With that I left her to sleep, focusing on the swaying form of Jean as his horse led the way through the trees. There he was, finding us a way out of here. And I, his dutiful shadow, following close behind to stop him running anywhere.

With Eponine as the narrator, the tale almost had me believing that I was the villain here.


	16. Chapter 16

"I want to get down," Cosette complained shrilly for quite possibly the thousandth time that day.

"Yeah, me too," Eponine wailed, shifting in front of me and coming close to sliding off of the horse. The sun had reached it's midday peak and was unrelenting. Even without my jacket, I was uncomfortably warm.

Myself, and various other aspect of my anatomy, were agreeing with the girls and pining to get out of the saddle. The parts of my body which weren't aching had gone numb.

"We're almost there," Jean said exasperatedly, holding Cosette in place as she seemed gripped in the endeavour to stand up while on horseback. She huffed at him, and started swinging her legs, incidentally kicking him in the shin and causing him to wince.

"My bum's sore," Eponine said to me quietly.

Checking Jean wasn't listening in, I whispered, "Mine too."

She started to giggle, but a sigh came from the side of me, "Don't encourage them."

Eponine's eyes grew wide, and said, as though to herself, "Ears like a hawk."

"You said it's not far," I started. "Why don't we walk the rest of the way into town? We have been riding for two days straight."

With no sleep the night before, Valjean looked as though he were a dead man walking – or rather, riding. I doubted I looked much better, with blood staining my already rumpled shirt and the certainty of bags gathering beneath my eyes. I scratched at my chin, irritated at the speckled stubble accumulating there, uncomfortable and itchy. I was feeling extremely dishevelled, with no peace yet in sight.

Jean gave me a withering look, "It'll be faster staying on the horses. The girls can handle it." With a pointed look, I gathered he meant that _I _could handle it.

I would have let the topic drop then, on account of wounding my pride, when Eponine shifted uncomfortably yet again and groaned, unknowingly winning me over. I pulled Misty to a stop and slid to the ground, reaching up and helping Eponine down. My legs protested the sudden movement and for a moment I thought I would lose my balance and end up lying in the road, but I righted myself with a tug on Misty's saddle. Eponine took a few awkward steps and stretched briefly before taking off at full gallop. I gave Jean a look, "If we matched her speed, we'd be there in no time."

He grunted, "You've had your stretch, mount again so we can get going." Cosette was staring after Eponine who was entertaining herself by needlessly running in circles, and before Jean could work out what had happened the girl had slithered to the ground and run after Eponine.

I gave him a look. "You don't always have to be right. Just get on the ground and walk."

"That's rich," He said snarkily as he dismounted, "Coming from you."

I didn't rise to the baiting, and instead gathered Misty's reins and started walking. The ache in my legs wasn't lessening, and I was stunned that Eponine and Cosette were able to run ahead as they did. They were out of earshot down the road, in plain view, having now slowed to a walk. They talked freely to one another, swinging their arms and smiling.

"Must be easy, being eight," I remarked.

"You were eight once," Valjean said.

"Of body maybe, but not of mind."

"Well," He said with a raised eyebrow, "That was cryptic."

I stayed silent, thinking of the days and nights I was left to fend for myself as my parents spent all of their money in the taverns. An eight year old was supposed to go running across the countryside with their friends, not stumbling from door to door begging for scraps. Not being left alone as your parents slept off their latest stupors in jail. An eight year old wasn't supposed to know all of the local police officers on a first name basis.

I had never had an opportunity to be eight.

"You like trying to be a mysterious fellow, don't you?" Jean asked, giving me a sideways glance. "A hard act to maintain."

I grunted. "It's no act – my business is not yours." The road we walked was dusty in the hot afternoon, and I rubbed at my damp brow. Valjean handed me a water canteen, and I accepted it graciously.

"You know my past," He attempted to press.

I snorted, almost choking on the water. "I know your past because it was documented in a file. That's what happens when you break the law – we like to know the history of the criminals under our supervision." I handed him the canteen back and scowled, "For example, the assaulting of a police officer."

"You had that coming," He grumbled.

"Remind me to update your file when I finally get you into police custody."

Valjean let out a bark of a laugh then, and I had to do a double-take to make sure he wasn't choking and was, instead, laughing at something I had said. As though I had made a joke he enjoyed. "Are you laughing because you think I won't get you into police custody," I asked, puzzled, "because I will! I may not have my handcuffs anymore, but-"

"Will you just relax," He interjected. "Can you not go five minutes without reminding me of my impending arrest? Just, let me enjoy right now." He gestured around us, "The sky is clear, the wind is blowing – let me enjoy this mock freedom. I said I would come back with you when this is done, so please just trust me enough to drop the subject and have a real conversation with me."

I thought back to a time where I had had a real conversation – and came up short. The silence between us stemmed as I realised that I had never really talked to anyone before: I had never taken the time to make small talk, to learn the lives of the people around me. There was work, and colleagues, and my world revolved around that so tightly that the only words I ever spoke were police related. I had a job, but I didn't really have any friends.

Did I want Jean to be my friend?

Would he laugh at me if he knew that the answer, for some unfathomable reason, was yes?

In a confusing decision, I deigned that until we had delivered the girls to the next step on their journey I would live in the pseudo-reality that Jean and I were friends. That I enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed mine.

We could both live in these fake realities of our own design. Not forever, not even for longer than a few days. But it would be a new experience.

"My arse is absolutely killing me," Jean announced.

I replied how I thought a friend would: with a curt nod and a clipped, "Yep." It wasn't a bad start, in my opinion, and the 7 word exchange didn't even brush the topic of work. I deigned that a success.

To improve matters, I noted how blue the sky was today and Valjean said he was grateful for the cool breeze.

It was starting to become apparent that I was pretty gifted with this 'casual conversation' thing.


	17. Chapter 17

Finally: a decent looking inn that didn't set my skin crawling at the mere sight of it. Possibly a sign that wherever Jean may be leading us, it was good. I hoped so: the thought of the disappointment we would endure if this plan failed was almost unbearable. I wanted the girls to have a future, not to settle for sweeping floors in exchange of a leaky roof over their heads.

I knew what I wanted to do as soon as I stepped inside the inn. Not have a bath, nor go on the search for warmer garments – something that had been niggling at me for days.

I got a sharp pair of scissors from the barkeep and made Cosette sit down on a stool in our room, much to her annoyance. Apparently, the view out of the window was far more interesting than any old haircut could be. It didn't help that Eponine was transfixed, staring at the market outside, and would 'oh' and 'ah' as horse-drawn carriages rushed past, or the latest street performer grabbing his chance to earn his dinner. Every reaction from Eponine caused Cosette to start fidgeting. I tutted at her, and started trimming at the choppy mess she had let be sheared onto her head days ago. All I had to do was even it out and I would be happy.

Jean lounged on the bed. "What makes you such an expert in women's hair styling?" He asked snidely, yet with a smile.

"I don't know if you noticed," I pointed out, working out whether or not to give the child a fringe, "But this is not exactly the most ladylike of hairstyles. Also, as an officer of the law, I have an extraordinary eye for fine detail."

And that eye decided that a fringe would just be a bad idea.

A comfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the snipping of Cosette's hair from my scissors. This would hopefully not take me long: I was bone tired, and ready for a hot meal.

"If you could be anywhere, right now," Jean suddenly said, "Where would you be?" He was lying on his back, smirking at some far away thought.

Eponine turned away from the window, sitting down and crossing her legs beneath her skirt and seeming to give this a lot of thought. Cosette rang out instantaneously with, "I would want to be with my mum."

I felt ice stab my chest: such a small sentence, so arbitrary, and it hurt to hear. She grew quiet, and I shot Valjean a glare, wondering why he asked such a trivial question. To his credit, he did look guilty, and neither of us knew what to say.

Our discomfort was broken by Eponine, who innocently said, "I would want to be on the beach." She grinned, "I've never been to a beach before."

Jean sat up, grinning like a madman. "Well you are in for some luck!" He announced with a laugh. His sudden high energy was enough to draw Cosette out of her head and she turned her head sharply towards him in interest. I had to put my hand on her head and swivel it to its original position: if she had moved her head a few seconds earlier, there was a chance she would have lost her ear. I told her that, warning her not to move again, and she laughed as though it were a joke.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked cautiously, paying particular attention to Cosette dare she suddenly move again. My goal was to improve the hairstyle, not worsen it because of her needless fidgeting.

"Oh, nothing," Valjean said coyly. I rolled my eyes, but Eponine took the bait. Cosette would have too, not to mention having jumped out of her chair, had I not kept a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Are we going to the beach?" Eponine shrieked.

"Quiet Eponine," I scolded. "We are not the only guests staying here. You'll disturb someone, shouting like that."

Jean raised an eyebrow, "That was an awfully parental statement."

"Just because it's true," I challenged. Eponine was jabbering on about the beach – really helpful, Valjean – and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep Cosette contained much longer. With a final snip and comb, I pronounced her to be acceptable to the world. No sooner had the words left my mouth than she was gone, sitting next to Eponine and talking about the sea.

I looked at Jean and gestured towards the girls, "You see what you've done? We'll get a noise complaint for sure."

Jean rolled onto his back and shrugged, "Lighten up – I just gave them something to look forward to."

I sat down on the seat Cosette had vacated, and started unlacing my boots. "They already had an entire new life to be looking forward to."

"They?" He questioned in a hushed tone, leaning towards me to stop them from over-hearing. "I thought we were to return Eponine to her distraught parents?"

I glanced down at the floor, stumped by what I had said. Since when was I in favour of giving Eponine a new life as well? I had no right to do so. It would probably make her happier than returning her to – but it wasn't my place.

I couldn't believe I was saying this, but, "Wherever we are taking Cosette – and I trust your judgement as to where that may be, crazy as it seems – I think we should take Eponine there too."

"Distraught parents?" Valjean pushed, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

I could admit I felt sheepish. "Well, that's not strictly true…" I started, not wanting to look at him. "They _were _distraught, but… more because they had lost Cosette's replacement."

Valjean huffed out a great lungful of air, squaring me in his gaze and enjoying his seat on his high horse. "You made me feel all of that guilt, for nothing!" He exclaimed, quiet enough so that the girls didn't catch our conversation – the statement lost its kick without the added volume.

"You deserved it," I mumbled.

"I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, worrying and fretting over those poor people!"

"You didn't get a wink of sleep last night because we were travelling for its entirety!" I pointed out.

"And the guilt."

"Maybe," I offered, "You were feeling guilty over _shooting me _last night!"

"Well, you just had to bring that up again, didn't you?" Jean looked very offended, and some part of me felt the sudden urge to laugh. It was strange, and I decided not to indulge it until I knew what such an action would do.

Before I could retort – which was lucky because reminding him he shot me was my last defence – Eponine interrupted with, "What about you, Inspector?"

We were so shocked at her interruption the room grew silent: had they both heard what we had been arguing about? Oh Dear Lord, I hope not.

Eponine grew impatient under our panicked stares. "Where would you like to be, right now?" She pressed.

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Well…" I gave it some thought – I was tempted to make a dig at Jean, perhaps hinting to him that the only place I wanted to be was in my office, knowing he was behind bars. And I almost said so too.

Except…

Except I remembered our talk from this morning, this deal to pretend we had lives outside of the law. And then I gave my answer serious thought.

And the answer I found surprised myself. "Well," I said again, knowing the girls were losing interest in hearing my answer, "I think I would like to be on the beach too."

The statement was genuine, and I smiled at the thought of it.


	18. Chapter 18

I had yet another long, sleepless night. Since we could only afford one room – and Jean and I didn't trust each other to take separate rooms if we could – we were all stuck in the small space together. As expected, we let the girls take the bed, and they fell asleep almost instantly. Jean grabbed the only chair in the room for himself – I didn't really mind, I doubt I could have slept with enough muscle tension to keep myself upright in sleep. I would have ended up sprawled on the floor: so undignified.

As it turned out, I was left to the floor. I made sure to keep any sprawling to a minimum.

Towards the night's beginning, I was relatively warm: we were directly above the bar and all the activity and roaring fires below kept the floor warm. But as the night winded down, the cold drew in and my discomfort rose.

And for the umpteenth time, I missed my jacket.

Although cold and uncomfortable, I expected to fall asleep with relative ease: I had been awake since I had managed to track Valjean down, and there was a hefty lock on the door to stop anyone coming in, or leaving unannounced. Yet I remained on the floor wide awake, exhaustion dragging me to a place that would not allow me to reach sleep.

I sat up, and cleaned the wound on my arm with cold water before redressing it. No one stirred from the noise, and I envied their deep sleep. From what I could tell in the dark, the wound wasn't infected: a good thing too, since it was such a small scratch. Making a scene over it would have been embarrassing.

The redressing took an unsatisfyingly short amount of time, and I had nothing else to do to keep me busy until I fell asleep. Jean was beginning to snore, still managing to sit perfectly in his chair.

I lay down on my back, and tried to clear my head of unnecessary thoughts.

It didn't work – Jean's snoring kept interrupting me.

With a sigh, I settled in for the long night that involved me staring at the ceiling for its entirety. At one point, as the light of dawn was starting to filter through the curtains, I questioned what I was doing here.

Not just wondering why I was lying on the floor of the inn, but what I was doing escorting a criminal and two children across the French countryside. I felt like I was doing the right thing, yet when I looked at the situation from a law standpoint it all seemed thoroughly illegal to me. No matter how I looked at it, the law told me that this was wrong: that I should stop this endeavour. That I should leave Cosette to an orphanage, abandon Eponine to her parents and hand Jean in to the authorities.

That was supposed to be the right thing to do. And yet it felt dishonourable, and wrong, and made my gut twist with unwarranted guilt I didn't know I held. The law always told me what was right, and wrong.

Yet here it was failing. It was giving me incorrect advice to my situation, not adapting to this scenario and telling me I was doing right. I felt like I was doing right.

Would another police officer think so?

The law said I was wrong, but… what if it was the law that was wrong? It was so cut throat, so black and white, and Valjean and I were most certainly in a grey area. It showed no compassion – could not take into account of the good I was doing.

I was leading to young children to a better life, filled with happiness and future prospects (I hoped) while escorting a man on his final venture of freedom before the shackles were clamped shut once more. How could the law say that was wrong: it was fundamentally the right thing to do.

Suddenly the plight of Prisoner 24601 – Jean Valjean – hit me.

_"My sister's child was close to death," _He had cried, those words ringing in my memory. _"We were starving!"_

And how had I replied? I had told this man, who had given everything to save his niece, that I would rather he starved than break the law again.

I would rather a young child died in order for my principles to be upheld.

I felt sick: sick at how I used to be, sick at how I was now. Sick at the idea that, somehow, I had changed so drastically that all of my morals were backwards, and I had not even noticed it happening to me.

I understood: in this sudden clarity, I understood why he had done what he had. And worse, I agreed with his methods.

I was agreeing with a convicted criminal. I was sympathising with him, and suddenly I saw myself for what I truly was.

A puppet. A dark shadow latching onto the heels of a man who, honestly, had just wanted to help someone he cared about. Who was still trailing the man as he tried to save two people he didn't know – saving children he had never met before he accepted the quest. It didn't matter: someone needed his help, and he had to be there. And he had to bring his shadow along, to ruin the plan.

And with a twist in my chest, I agreed with Valjean.

I was the villain here.

If I had had any hopes of falling asleep before, they were firmly dashed by the realisation that I was the evil villain children hoped would be bested by the hero.

As the light strengthened, Jean was up and rummaging through the bags, packing for the day's travel ahead of us. I rose to help him, packing my own bags, and he gave me a sideways glance.

"Floor wasn't that comfy then?" He whispered.

I grunted in reply.

He stopped what he was doing, squaring me in his gaze. "Answer me honestly," He said. Before I could reply sarcastically, he charged on, "Did you get any sleep last night."

I shrugged. It wasn't dishonest.

"That's two nights in a row, no sleep." I carried on as I was. "Do you trust me so little that you won't let yourself rest?" I wasn't breaking my rhythm, he could work this out by himself. "You're going to fall off your horse today, and bring one of the girls down with you," He hissed.

"Can you not grasp the concept that I don't fancy a conversation right now?" I asked him in as calm a tone as I could muster.

"That's because you're cranky, because-"

"Don't say it," I warned.

"You've had no sleep. In two days."

I sighed. "Well the past two nights I have either been sitting on a horse, or lying on the floor."

"Aw," He said sarcastically, "Does someone miss his cushy bed?"

The fact that I had remained awake because I realised I sympathised with him made me extraordinarily angry, because he was now making fun of me. I let my scowl settle into place, and ignored him.

Jean suddenly walked over and woke the girls up, ushering them out of bed as they rubbed at their eyes and complained at him. "We need to run some errands," He told them.

Wonderful – we needed to go shopping before we could get on the move. I left the bags as they were and started to make my way towards the door. Suddenly, a firm hand grasped me and I was sitting on the bed, completely puzzled as to how I had gotten there. Was I so tired that my brain was skipping over information?

"You are going to stay here," Jean said firmly, "And sleep."

Ah. That explained how I had gotten here. "You pushed me," I accused.

"We need supplies. You, sleep."

I rose to stand, and he pushed me straight back down again. Damn his superhuman strength.

I barked out a laugh, "You really think I am going to let you and the girls walk out of here, unsupervised, without a fight." I lowered my voice, "You'll be gone in the blink of an eye."

Jean bent down to my level and squared me in his gaze. "I already went back on our deal once, I won't be doing it again. We will return in a couple of hours with supplies, and then all four of us will carry on with this journey. Do you understand me?"

I just stared at him.

He shook his head, "Please. Please would you just trust me? I will leave all of our bags here – excluding the money we will required. But everything else will be left here with you. It wouldn't make sense for us to leave without it."

His logic made sense. But, astoundingly, what I was about to say didn't stem from logic or reason: it came from a gut feeling. "I trust you," I said, shocking us both.

Valjean froze, right in front of me, and we stared at each other for a moment before he managed a brief, "Thank you," before rushing the girls out of the room in the fear that I would change my mind.

My mind didn't change. And as I lay down, I expected to be too worried to be able to relax at all. And again I was surprised – a feeling I was becoming increasingly familiar with, annoyingly. As soon as I lay down, I felt myself drifting off immediately before sinking down into a deep sleep.

I feared Valjean was right: maybe I had missed my 'cushy' bed.


	19. Chapter 19

A great bundle of cloth landed on my face, and as I struggled to consciousness I had thoughts of drowning in the musty fabric. Silly, and yet slightly terrifying.

I tore the cloth away from my face, squinting due to the surprisingly bright room. How long had I slept? However long it had been, I had needed it. I felt refreshed, albeit a bit groggy, and confused as to why clothing was being thrown at me. I turned my head to find Jean, Cosette and Eponine all staring at me with hands on hips.

For some reason, I felt sheepish.

"Ah at last," Jean announced obnoxiously, "Sleeping Beauty finally awakens."

I scowled and threw back the covers, searching for my shoes briefly before finding they were still on my feet. I heard one of the girls giggle at my confusion, but a quick glance in their direction silenced the sound. Was this the price I had to pay to feel well rested?

Valjean threw another package at me, and luckily I managed to catch this one. A peak inside told me that I had slept through lunch – a roast beef sandwich.

I eyed it warily, unsure if I should offer it to Cosette. She was still so thin…

"Hurry up," Valjean urged. "I would like to get moving before the sun sets please."

I swallowed the meagre meal in two bites, trying to remember the last time I had eaten anything substantial. It seemed that while I was on this trip I was doomed to be always handing my lunch away to whoever could give me the saddest puppy-dog eyes. I hardly even tasted the sandwich before it was gone.

"You ready to get going?" Jean pressed, "We need to be out of the room soon, unless you fancy staying here another night?"

Actually, I did fancy that. A hot meal, a bath and I would feel a bit closer to being myself again. But voicing this would probably get me mocked, and some part of me did want to get back on the move. As I stood, the forgotten piece of cloth that had been thrown at me fell off my lap and onto the floor. Bending to retrieve it, I realised what it was.

"Hope it fits," Jean said with a smile. "Now can we please go?"

The jacket was old, and well worn, but the sentiment was touching. It was similar in colour to my previous jacket, and I wondered if that was planned or just mere coincidence? Shrugging it on, I found it to be surprisingly warm and sturdy, not to mention well-fitting. My feeling of comfort continued, and I moved my gun and whistle into the pockets.

"All set?" Jean pressed, walking to retrieve the bags he had left here and shouldering them all at once, mine included. How could the man possess that much strength?

I stood, and found myself smiling. "Very much so," I said. The whole room seemed taken back at the appearance of the grin, and I was half tempted to let it melt into a scowl. Instead, I took the girls' hands and led the way out of the room.

"You want to camp?" I asked him, just to be sure. "Out here, in the open?"

Jean nodded, "Not quite here, just a bit further on. I used to do it all the time as a kid, when-" He cut himself off and suddenly turned tight-lipped. Whatever he had been planning on saying was either going to be illegal, or a story that was close to his own heart that he didn't want to share with me.

Curiosity was a cruel vice.

"And we just sleep on the ground?" I said, ignoring my urge to question him further on what he had been going to say.

"We bought tents," Cosette told me brightly. She was sitting in front of me today – had specifically asked me if she could. I felt a strange sense of pride that the child wanted to spend time with me, and Eponine didn't seem to mind getting to sit with Valjean again.

"How wonderful," I said dryly. I suppose to decent sleeps in a row would be too much to ask for.

"We're going to build a fire," Eponine said, miming the rubbing of sticks together to create a spark.

I never did like the outdoors.

We rode on in relative silence, broken occasionally by one of the girls seeing something of interest and having the need to draw everyone's gazes to it. Late afternoon was passing quickly, and as we verged into evening I grew uneasy: where were we going, and would we have enough time to set up camp before the dark descended?

Just as I felt the urge to voice these worries, Jean led us into a small clearing and halted his horse. I followed suit, glad to know we wouldn't be camping amidst the claustrophobic trees. A bit of light from the moon would break in here, providing the night was as clear as the day.

We dismounted, and Jean passed a tent to me and took one for himself.

I raised an eyebrow – only two tents? "What are the sleeping arrangements?"

"The girls in one tent, and the second tent is for which of us is not currently on watch."

A part of me had guessed at the arrangement of a night watch, but I had shied away from the thought. Nothing could make a sleepless man weary like taking the graveyard shift.

Jean smirked at me, "And you're taking first watch. Since you slept half the day away."

I scowled, and busied myself with building the tent to keep from retorting. As he and I worked, the girls wandered around the clearing, Eponine peering at flowers while Cosette clamoured up trees. I warned her to get down, having visions of scraped knees and screaming, but she carried on regardless, which didn't surprise me.

Valjean had already pitched his tent, and as I finished mine he started a fire, spending long minutes coaxing the spark into a flame. The end result was an unimpressive flickering pile of smouldering wood that somehow successfully managed to keep all of us relatively warm. And just in time too: as the sun set, the trees surrounding the clearing cut off the waning light and made night come on all that quicker.

We sat down around the fire, and Jean handed out a meal of smoked meat, bread and cheese. I noticed Cosette shivering and managed to part with my new jacket to hand it to her to warm her up – after I had removed the gun from the pocket. A good thing too – as soon as I settled the jacket on her shoulders she went racking through the pockets, but all she came across was my whistle. Instead of blowing it as loudly as she could, as I assumed she would, she started devouring her food with remarkable vigour. As we ate, Valjean began talking in a smooth voice.

He began with, "Once upon a time," And my stomach dropped as I realised he was about to tell a story, most likely with me being presented as a villain. But Eponine and Cosette looked so excited, I couldn't stop him. Instead, I stared into the flames and didn't meet his eye. If he looked at me, he might be able to guess my guilt for how I had treated him.

"There was a swash-buckling rogue," Jean grinned, knowing he had the girls captivated, "Who would travel all over the land, meeting the most amazing people and attempting the most amazing feats."

Of course he would enjoy telling the stories if he painted himself in that light…

"But," Eponine said, already familiar with the stories.

"But," said Jean with a glint in his eye, "He was never alone. No matter where he went, darkness followed. His own little shadow, latched to his heel, would try to stop his adventures. The shadow would dig its heels in and slow him down, but the rogue refused to give up. He knew that as long as he kept moving forward, he would someday outrun the shadow. He would make it to the light. But he was wrong."

At his change of tone, I glanced up, thinking that the story was headed in a direction that would continue to make me feel worse. Instead, I was surprised to find Jean staring intently at me as he paused. "But," He said again, holding my gaze, "He had judged his shadow too soon."

Jean swallowed uneasily, and returned his gaze to the girls. "He was too busy running away, being a coward, to care about anyone else. The rogue was selfish, and he did not realise this until his shadow managed to stop him."

The girls both gasped, shocked that the hero had been thwarted. I must admit, I felt the same way.

"The shadow stopped him, and the rogue finally looked around him. In his conquest to find the light, he had gotten lost. He didn't know where he was, and he was alone.

"Except for his shadow. His shadow had followed him every step of the way – not out of spite. His shadow was there to keep him grounded, he realised – his shadow was there to stop his feet leaving the ground. For if the rogue had floated away like he so wished, eventually he would have flown too close to the sun and been burned. He learned," Jean said, avoiding my gaze, "That the shadow was a friend."

I was stunned – I felt my jaw moving but no sound was coming out. Should I tell him that I understood why he had done what he had in the past? That I shamefully thought that I could have resorted to the same measures in the same situation?

Should I tell him that the rogue was a good guy, and that he wasn't alone?

I don't know what I would have said, if I had had the time. As Jean and I stared at each other and tried to formulate something to say, the girls lost interest in us. Hyperactive Cosette returned to the prize she had found within my pocket – the whistle – and gave it a sharp blow in the hopes of returning our attention to her.

In the stillness that followed the high-pitched shriek of the whistle, all hell broke loose on the clearing where a rogue and his shadow had become friends.


	20. Chapter 20

Bodies, men, rushed into the clearing in a mass of organised yelling and pointing of guns. In the brief moment we had to turn our heads to the commotion we were surrounded, all of us sitting still and astounded. The men rushed at us, grabbed at Jean as he yelled, shouting for the girls and trying to tell them it would be okay as they screamed. The bodies streamed past me as though I were invisible, pulling Jean's arms back to be handcuffed, to heft the girls into arms as they shrieked and reached for Jean and I. But no one so much brushed against me, wary of their distance.

Then a familiar face emerged from the woods to stand by my side.

"Officer Allard," I choked out, attempting to retain composure. Confusion eclipsed all thinking for a moment before I realised what was happening – the tail that I had arranged, that had followed us so expertly that even I had not noticed them and had simply forgotten about, had been signalled. Had lied in wait all this time until the sound of my whistle called them forth to action. All of this before me happening because of a curious little girl who fiddled with whatever she found.

No – this was my fault. All of this, Jean's grimace of pain at the strain on his shoulders, the girls crying, it was all my doing.

"Inspector," Allard nodded at me. "Congratulations, I don't know many men who could keep up a ruse such as this for so long."

As soon as Allard had spoken, Jean's head had whipped around to stare at me. He was listening quietly, intently, trying to work out what was going on.

I merely grunted in response to Allard's appraisal.

"If I'm being honest sir," Allard continued on, "We got a bit concerned for a while there – this affair lasted a quite a bit longer than we expected. We thought you would have signalled us a lot earlier than this."

I had to be careful in my reply – currently I was the only member of our party not currently being detained by the hands of the law: it would be best to remain that way. Jean was staring at me so intensely I couldn't bring myself to look away from him, even as I heard the words start to leave my lips. "Are you questioning me, Allard?"

The dumpy man stuttered, "N-no sir!"

"I signalled you when I was good and ready," I said slowly, quietly, part of me hoping I could hide them and my deceit from Jean. "Any earlier, any other situation, and the rogue before us would have successfully escaped. Now, though, he stands before us in shackles. Tell me, how can you question me when my plan worked so perfectly?"

The flash of betrayal in Jean's eyes was enough to force me to break eye contact and focus on Allard.

"I-I'm not sir," Allard assured me.

"Good," I said with a terse nod. "It would work out best for you if you didn't question my motives again."

"Yes, Inspector," Allard quickly, turning back to his team whom had paid close attention to our conversation. "Let's get out of here boys," he called.

I met Jean's eyes again, his seething glare making my gut clench and I had to fight to remain composed. There was nothing I could tell him – his apparent anger would help me sell this ruse at least.

With a nod from Allard, Jean was gruffly removed from the clearing. He began yelling to Cosette and Eponine who had been left to cry in the police officer's arms, telling them not to be afraid. That it was going to be okay. He yelled as he disappeared into the darkness of the woods, his detached voice echoing back to us amongst the boughs.

"We had to leave the horses at the edge of the woods sir," Allard informed me. "There would have been too much commotion had we brought them along."

I nod in approval, part of me thinking that if the horses had been brought maybe we would have had enough warning to run.

"24601 will be chained and escorted back to town in a tumbrel. Unfortunately the young girls will need to ride with officers – we didn't know they would be here."

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, "Neither did I. They are two unlikely victims of this whole ordeal."

"Who are they, sir?"

A semblance of my old self reared its head there, the sudden inability to lie to an enforcer of the law. "One's an orphan, and the other was taken from her home by Valjean."

Allard looked shocked, "He stole a child?"

"It would be better to say she stole him."

That earned me a look of confusion from Allard, but I couldn't keep my cold, detached voice going much longer. I started to walk away, making my way to the crying girls. I wanted to comfort them, take them both into my arms and promise them they would still see the beach. I would speak to them like Jean always did, telling them of all the places in the world they haven't seen, or the adventures of a well meaning rogue, anything to bring a smile to their faces.

But they saw me approach, and my sweet girls were not stupid. They had seen how Jean had reacted towards me in the past few minutes. They had seen how these men, who had ripped them from the happy moment we were having around the fire, addressed me and had all fallen silent when I spoke. My girls knew this was my fault.

And as I approached, I could see them piecing this together. Eponine continued to cry, wailing now, while Cosette went completely and unnervingly still. She still wore my jacket, being swallowed in the dark fabric that made her look so, so small. Her body had gone completely still and her eyes stared right through me, hurt and betrayed and gripping the whistle she had somehow managed to keep hold of so tightly the pale tendons of her hand pressed against her skin.

She had never stayed still for so long, and it stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't bear it any longer, I had to turn away, signalling the men to leave and head back to the horses as well.

As they left, Eponine began shouting to me through her tears, fighting against the man who held her. Screaming for me to explain what was happening, where they were going.

Cosette stayed completely silent throughout the whole ordeal. I followed her lead and allowed Allard to escort me back to the waiting horses, not saying a word as he chattered on excitedly.

We arrived as Valjean was finally loaded into the tumbrel, the officers around him out of breath from their struggle. I caught Valjean's attention for a moment, and even across this distance in the dark of night I could see every feature of his face, every emotion that tried to run across it before he squashed it. As the cart began to move, he sneered and spat at my feet, narrowly missing my boot. In any other situation, I could be impressed he could spit that far.

With a sign I had to face the knowledge that Jean was right – as soon as his shadow caught up to him it took hold and dragged him down into the darkness, whether he had had a change of heart or not.

And I didn't know how, or if, I could fix what I had done.


	21. Chapter 21

My ragged jacket Jean had acquired for me was taken and thrown out amongst the garbage in the street, a clean officer's jacket being firmly placed in my hands. "You don't need that ratty thing anymore," Allard assured me. I nodded tersely.

A medic was called out in the middle of the night to tend to my arm, regardless of how much I assured the men around me that it was just a scratch.

"It's a bullet wound?" I was asked by a faceless man clad in blue, concern wrinkling his brow.

"Technically, yes, it is," I answered, ready to launch once again into my speech about no one needing to worry about it, but it was too late. The words 'bullet' and 'gun' and 'hero' rocketed around me and I had to excuse myself from the crowded room. The guilt gnawing at my gut was beginning to become unbearable, and once outside it was all I could do to stand with my eyes shut and just breathe.

Valjean was locked in a cell inside. The girls had been escorted to a room within the building and it was currently a debate over what to do with them. 'Workhouse' was thrown around so often I'd had to leave the room to stop myself from screaming. I didn't know when I lost the ability to be around my own kind, the black-and-white men of the law, but the way they talked about deciding someone else's whole future without really caring was grating on my nerves. It sounded like madness.

The medic arrived and I was ushered back inside, only to be told the wound was healing fine on its own and there was no sign of infection. As I thanked the doctor who had been dragged from bed to attend to me I had to fight to keep from rolling my eyes: even as an Inspector, no one had listened to me telling them it was a waste of time.

I needed to get this feeling of sickness out of my chest.

"I need to talk to Valjean," I found myself saying out loud. I cleared my throat, "Bring me to prisoner 24601." The room went silent, and in slow motion, as though I was going to tell them I was joking, I was led through the building to stand before the row of cells.

Piles of rags, dilapidated men, crouched in the small barren cells, encircled in a ring of iron. As we passed they all looked to the ground, desperate not to draw attention to themselves. One began hurriedly whispering a prayer under his breath, another began to weep and rub at his sunburned face. It was almost pitiful, until I reminded myself each of these men were paying the price for criminal activities. They had brought this upon themselves.

Amidst the wailing and shuffling wretches sat Jean, irritatingly calm and leisurely leaning against the wall of his cell. He looked almost at home.

"Inspector," He greeted through tight lips, and I saw his previously relaxed form tense at the sight of me.

"Your time is up, Valjean," I told him, looking down into that cell, "And your sentence has begun."

I didn't know why I was here, antagonising him. I didn't know what my goal was – if he were to keep his word we would always have ended up here. Because I didn't keep mine we're early, but what was the point in telling him what was in store for him? We both knew, this was a waste of our time. And yet, here I was, talking to him.

"You know what that means," I prodded, waiting to pull a response from him.

He barked a hollow sound that sounded like the shadow of a laugh, "Yes, it means another twenty years of my life behind bars."

"No," The officer beside me said, startling us both. "It means you get your one way ticket to the gallows."

This stopped me cold, and as I stared at Jean he mirrored my reaction of shock. The gallows? Of course it's understandable, he skipped parole for all those years, and had assaulted an officer – several times – but these men who have sentenced him did not know why Jean had done what he had done, who he was and what had motivated him.

Could I blame him for how he had acted?

But, at the end of the day, the law is the law.

I excused the officer, making it clear I wished to talk to Valjean alone. The man's eyes quickly flickered to Jean's still form, but he bid a hasty retreat.

I leaned against the bars to his cell, my senseless guilt working its way up into my throat. "I…I'm-"

I don't know what I was trying to say, if I was going to apologise for what was happening or tell him I wish it wasn't the gallows. Either way it didn't matter – before I managed to get another word out the man was on his feet before me, hands gripping my new officer's jacket as he slammed me against the bars of his cell.

"Are you happy now?" Was all he asked, hissed, his face inches from mine. I suspect the only thing stopping him punching me were the iron bars he had me pressed up against.

"You are a thief," I spat, reasoning more with myself than him

"I stole a loaf of bread!" He raised his voice as high as he dared: around us, the crouched figures were turning to stare and in a bid to stop drawing attention to us he let my jacket go. I stumbled back, but he remained where he stood.

"You robbed a house," I accused.

He sighed. "I only stole a loaf of bread. Broke one little window pane."

I rubbed a hand across my face, feeling defeated. "I know," I said, keeping my voice quiet. Yet he managed to catch what I said, turning to look at me in surprise. "Your sister's child was going to die, you were all going to starve…"

"I just wanted to save them," He turned from me, leaning against the bars and sinking down to the ground. "And look what good I did: as if one loaf of bread would have helped. If we didn't starve that day, we would always have had plenty of opportunities to starve again." We were silent for a moment, the only noise that incessant prisoner's praying.

"It was wrong," Jean said, looking back at me over his shoulder. "What I did, stealing from another poor family, it was wrong. I understand the meaning of the law now, I understand all of those nineteen years, all that time spent as a slave. Time I should have used to protect my family."

"Five years for what you did," I muttered, "The rest because you did what any sane person would do and tried to run." I shook my head – the time he spent a prisoner, half a lifetime, and no matter how much he paid he was always expected to remain under the thumb of the law. I had to wrestle my mind from going down the path of asking 'how is that fair?'. "Jean-"

"I'm not Jean anymore," his head fell forwards into his hands as he said with a slight shake in his voice, "I'm just 24601."

"Your name," I said softly, crouching down to lay a hand on his shoulder through the bars, "Is Jean Valjean."

"And what is yours, Inspector?"

"Javert," I say with the ghost of a smile.

"Trust me, I won't forget that," He said with a quiet chuckle. "But what is your first name?"

My name, like his, was something I felt I lost when the law seized my life. Something I associated with my checkered past, and had tried my best to forget and leave behind.

"What does it matter?"

He nodded solemly, "A fair question. I suppose it doesn't, now. You will finally have your way, and I will see the gallows swing before me." His defeated admission of his death struck a chord within me, and suddenly tears welled in my eyes.

"Doesn't this all feel strangely familiar?" I asked him, trying to pinpoint the source of my déjà vu.

"We've chased each other around like cat and dog for long enough, we're bound to replay some of our scenes together."

I would be more inclined to compare us to cat and mouse: we never chased each other around, it was always I pursuing him, ruining any hope of freedom from his mistakes. "I'm sorry, Jean. I need you to know that – all of this, it's not something I wanted. At least, not anymore."

He didn't reply, and I had to press further, had to make sure he understood this, although entirely my fault, was an accident. Something I did not wish. "You asked me where I would most like to be, remember? At the time, I just answered in a way I thought would get you and the girls off of my back. But in all honesty, I would have loved to see the beach and the sea, to see the look on the girls' faces as they marvelled at the view, to have the opportunity to marvel myself."

Still no answer, and after a few tense moments I took my hand away and stood, ready to walk away.

"You, and the girls," Came his voice through the gloom, "You won't forget me, will you?"

I shook my head at the thought, "I don't think that's possible."

With our final conversation at a close, I walked from the room, the heel of my boot clacking my departure. The convicts whom had paid such close attention to Valjean and I refused to look me in the eye, all staring down as I passed.

I returned to a mass of police officers talking animatedly, discussing the upcoming execution. The man may as well not have a trial, I thought. His future was already certain.

"A slave to the end of his days!" One man yelled.

"I wonder how it feels," Another approached me, attempting to start up a conversation, "To be standing in your grave?"

And in that moment, I decided it was not a feeling I wished to ever experience. Nor would it be one I would allow Jean to endure.

I would not let him die here.


End file.
